Resident Evil: The Final Chapter

Chapter 20: Survival of the Fittest

A/N: Chapter twenty is here. I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter, and will keep reading. I didn't get many reviews, and I pray that my reviewers didn't give up on me. So please keep reading.

Also, two notes before I start this chapter. Do you think I'm making the characters' personalities accurate? If not, give me some advice. I haven't played the games in awhile and I'm not one hundred percent sure how to make them act, so if I'm not doing a great job, please tell me, and I'll try my best to make the characters seem more like themselves. I know this is late into the story to ask this, but it really is just now coming to my head.

Second note, I'd like to only warn you that this is another long one. Almost 7,500 words long. Lol sorry.

Enjoy.

They'd been scratching on the door for well over six hours now, and he was beginning to lose grasp of sanity. Their desperate, hungry moans continued in a lonely, haunting chorus. Their fingernails scratched at the wooden door, peeling paint away, and probably working on the soft wooden door. He wasn't sure how much longer it could hold up…he wondered if they'd get him, or if he'd go insane first.

A .45 caliber handgun trembled in his sweaty hand, and a cordless radio in the other. He had just salvaged it from one of the boxes he had in the cellar. The basement was small, round, no more then ten feet wide. If they'd get in, he couldn't run, and there was no telling how many would storm the small room. Eric scratched his eye that had been irritating him quite a bit, somewhat like there was something stuck in it. He had headaches-no-migraines- too, right after his eyes started itching. It had to be all of the stress that was giving him these goddamn pounding migraines.

He remembered hearing from many people in the town that they would be safe from this illness that had apparently started a few states to the east of where he lived, a small town tucked into the Smokey Mountains in Tennessee. He'd first heard of this illness a few days back, heard that a bunch of crazy people suddenly appeared in towns along the east coast. The people were apparently a bunch of cannibals that felt no pain. Their numbers grew rapidly, and officials declared it an epidemic. The so-called disease spread rapidly toward the west, but officials said they had it under control. The president disappeared, and someone else took over, some guy he never even heard of. The cannibals and indescribable creatures that some spoke about overran D.C. so the new president took refuge in some top-secret place, he told everyone to stay calm and dispatched all the national guard that he could, and concentrated them ten miles west of the nearest case of the disease. Everyone feared that it was a terrorist attack; some said it was the Apocalypse-

And his wife was gone. This wasn't the first time he'd thought about it. Jessica Reynolds was out there somewhere…he prayed that she was okay. He'd seen someone get killed by one of the cannibals. The person looked like he had leprosy, and should've been blind judging by his colorless eyes. He ran for home when he saw this, and their numbers quickly increased.

And they must have followed me home. There has to be twenty of them up there. And why won't my goddamn arm stop itching?

He started scratching at his forearm, feeling suddenly very sweaty. Looking down into his hand, at the radio, he decided to turn it on. Static at first, and he slowly and carefully spun the tuner dial. After a few moments, he found something, someone trying to relay a jumbled message, parts of it lost in static.

"President…just ordered a State…Emergency…asking that everyone…immediately. Our…overrun by them, stay…homes and don't fight them…an epidemic…the end. Don't let them bite…spread that way."

The channel was lost, and Eric tried to find another station while this message played through his head. He was trying to piece together what he heard-and stopped tuning the radio abruptly to scratch his arm. In fact, his entire body was becoming quite itchy, somewhat clammy too, actually, he felt like he'd run a mile in the Mojave Desert. A few more agonizing moments of them clawing at the door, and static, he found another station. Unlike the other it wasn't as jumbled in static. In the background sounds of battle were heard, gunshots, explosions, and shouting voices.

"Anchor…Johnson reporting from…e, Virginia. I'm standing here, watching the national guardsmen battle the zo…bies. At least, that's what they're calling the cannibals. The so-called…keep increasing in their ranks, and they refuse to die. It seems like the only method of killing them is to badly damage their brains or…damage to the base of their neck. I've been here for a few hours now, on top of a small general store in the town. We're supposed…be safe up here and-Oh my God! What is that? Do you see that? Something's walking down the street, its…huge, and looks like it's holding a…a…bazooka-shhh-BOOM!"

And that was the end of the transmission a dead silence took over. Eric didn't have to wonder what happened, he heard the projectile ripping the air just before the explosion that was cut short by the blast of static and then sudden silence-and he realized that they were doomed…they as in everyone.

And his arm was itching again, he scratched unconsciously with the hand he used to tune the radio. When his arm was relieved, he brought it up to tune the radio-and dropped the radio, blood covered his fingers, a mixture of flesh and blood caked under his fingernails.

"What the hell? What is this?" His arm itched again and he looked down at it, realizing suddenly with a great amount of shock that his skin was coming off. His forearm was covered in blood, shiny red muscle gleaming through spots in the dark red blood. Around the large lesion was gray skin, the veins seemed erect, and the smell attacked his nose. He'd smelled something like what he smelled now…

He'd once opened a dumpster and found a dead dog inside. The smell was horrible-

And I smell it now.

He lifted his hand with the fingernails caked with flesh, and sniffed them, trying to locate the source of the smell-and reeled his head backwards as the awful smell penetrated his nose for the second time…and a sudden sense of hunger took him over. His mouth started to water, the smell no longer an awful odor, but more of a sweet aroma. He had a taste for the flesh…

Eric sprung to his feet, and the thought…it was sick, and he vomited his guts out. After there was nothing left to puke, he realized that his shirt was soaked in the back, stuck to him. The feeling of immense heat caused him to stick the gun into the waistband of his jeans and pull his sweat-no blood soaked shirt off. There was a mirror in the basement, it was-

Over there, under that sheet-Before the thought even fully passed through his head, he dashed to the mirror and pulled the dusty sheet from it.

I look like one of them!

His skin was deathly pale, in some places there were blotches of gray skin, veins erect like on his forearm. Brown pupils floated in a sea of red, and he started scratching feverishly at his demonic eyes. Hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat. Turning around so that his back was facing the mirror, he looked over his shoulder into the reflection and saw that his back was mutilated. Missing flesh was abundant, and his muscle under the tissue shown through-CRACK.

Panicking eyes searched for the source of the sound, and they found it quickly. The wooden door was cracked horribly, and decaying arms broke through the wood, about a half dozen of them tumbled through the door and down the steps, a fresh new aroma of decaying flesh floated into the atmosphere, and he stared down at the bodies of the undead that were in a heap on the floor not ten feet from him. A sudden urge to eat overcame him, but was forced away by fear as four of them got to their feet, the other two lay there, necks twisted in obscene ways.

Itchy. Tasty.

Eric pulled the .45 caliber from his waistband and aimed the muzzle at the four stumbling creatures. Pieces of their flesh was falling off even as they walked, the scent growing ever stronger, the urge to eat overwhelming him.

"Ungh…" One of them moaned and stretched its arms out, not five feet away from him.

Itchy. Tasty.

Eric pulled the handgun away from the zombies and turned it onto himself.

Itchy. Tasty.

The steel of the barrel was cold against the temple of his head. He was hungry, mouth watering, wanting the flesh in his mouth, and the thought of taking a bite out of his own forearm passed through his mind. The groan of the zombie snapping him back into reality, but he was losing his grasp quickly, the urge to eat rotten flesh not going away this time. The feeling of having a fever was gone, the itching still persisted, and he felt something pulling on the skin of his upper back, near his shoulder blade. A wet squish behind him as a chunk of rotten flesh dropped off of his body and onto the floor.

Jessica… He thought of his wife in what he knew was his last moments. How much he loved her, how much he loved to hold her. The feel of her soft, delicate skin gliding under his fingertips…and he wondered how she would taste. She would be a delicacy; her soft, perfect skin would be a piece of heaven. He would take a bite straight from her neck, right after covering it in loving kisses. He would drink her blood, become intoxicated in its rich taste, and then feast on the rest of her.

Itchy. Tasty.

When Eric realized what he was thinking he pulled the trigger, and Eric Reynolds knew no more.

A sound woke her. She couldn't identify it as she went in and out of consciousness. She heard it again, a scratching, something hard scraping against metal. Opening her eyes, she suddenly remembered what had happened when she saw a form lying a few feet from her, against the wall.

The plane went down…A voice reminded her as she sat up, a headache already formed. It was dark, and she couldn't see much, if not anything. We brought some torches along with us, I'm sure of it; I saw them in the duffle bag. Jill Valentine stood up to her feet slowly, using a nearby seat to help her up. When the feeling returned to her legs, she started toward the back of the plane where the bag had been left.

Jill stepped carefully over forms, not knowing who was who, and hoping to god that each one of them was alive. As she made her way to the back of the plane, she heard the scraping sounds persist. She wondered what it was. Were they stick in a treetop? Was the plane rocking back and forth, the branches rubbing against it? She found the bag in the floor between two chairs. She unzipped it, happy to find half a dozen flashlights inside.

Flicking one of them on, Jill shone the shaft of light around the plane. Both sides of the airplane, near the ceiling, had gaping holes that stretched the length of the plane. She scanned the floor, finding that broken branches, and the sort were abundant.

Screech.

That damn sound again, it was getting irritating now. It resembled sharp nails against a chalkboard, and it was killing her ears. Jill shone a light toward where the sound seemed to come, the right front side of the plane. She saw nothing. Shining the light toward the cockpit door, and to the ground, she saw Chris lying against the door, and saw another persons arm sticking out from behind a seat. She looked around more, realizing that everyone but herself was knocked out.

Guess I better get to work. It'd be a good idea to get Rebecca up first…

With that, Jill started down the walkway, scanning between seats for the face of her friend.

A final press of a button would do it. It would seal the fate of the world…and he wondered if he was doing the right thing by doing this. He knew what this would cause, he knew the outcome, and knew that he'd be part of it. He was no killer; he was a far ways from a killer. But this action wouldn't qualify as a killer; it would be more like a psychopathic mass murderer. The bringer of the Apocalypse, as Wesker had put it.

Remember the power…the intelligence…

"But is it worth it?" Spate said to himself, staring down at the control panel. He had already programmed all three missiles. One was the T-Virus missile, the other the Plaga Missile, and the last the Plaga/T-Virus mixture. The missiles would cause an explosions close to five times stronger then the Atomic Bomb dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Wesker planned to send the missiles into some unpopulated area, let them blow up, and watched his dreams unfold before him. The explosion would cause a massive cloud to circle the earth, and inside the cloud would be the viruses. Since the T-Virus has a short-lived aerial life, Wesker made him find a way to expand its life. He did…but now he had regrets. The virus wouldn't totally diminish for a full week, by that time, the cloud should have circled the earth, and dropped the virus spores all over, causing everything it touched to mutate.

Do it! The power, the intellect, it will be yours!

Spate pressed a button, something appeared on a screen. It read: 4:00:00. Spate took a deep breath, fear starting to develop in the pit of his stomach.

Is power worth going to hell for? He thought, frowning. Yes! It's worth it! Now push the button! Spate slammed a fist down on the button that would start the timer just as a voice commanded him to do so.

Spate suddenly felt congested, breaths coming in rasps, a headache suddenly forming, and he fell to a knee as he breathed in air greedily. He was caught between breathing, which was now proving to be a quite difficult task, and fighting with his conscious.

What conscious? If I've done this, I have no conscious. I'm a greedy bastard! Spate slammed a fist into the metal floor, a dent appearing under his shaky and bony hand. He saw his hand, it had absolutely no meat whatsoever, just bone, and erect veins in which tiny organisms traveled in his bloodstream, organisms that were visible, small moving lumps under his skin. They were the organisms that were changing him.

But changing you for the best, Spate. An unknown, but familiar voice that had made itself known over the last three days, told him. You are not greedy, your human, every human craves power, craves intellect, and your only pursuing that craving as any other would do. You are doing nothing wrong, friend.

"Why would I listen to you? Who are you?" Spate shouted, looking up to the ceiling as if expecting to see someone. Nothing. "It's just a voice. Calm down." He told himself, rising up to his two feet. Spate looked around the room now, trying to find a reason not to look at the timer. The room was relatively small, surrounded on three sides with glass. Various computers lined those walls fitted with glass, each computer controlling something different, from the lights to the testing grounds.

Taking a shaky breath, Spate looked out of the window directly in front of him, his reflection fairly visible in the glass. It all overlooked a giant laboratory; it was where many of the creations were made, where many tests were conducted. "Just a voice. A figment of my imagination, not real."

NOT REAL?

The lights sputtered out, casting him into complete darkness. It was a coincidence, a power failure…but the lights in the laboratory were on, casting a pale glow through the glass-and then the air rippled in front of him, only almond-shaped crimson eyes visible. Spate gasped, and it was gone as quick as it had come. Before he even caught his breath, the voice spoke again just as the lights flickered back on.

Was that real enough for you?

Surprised, Spate spun around, trying to locate what he had seen. "Where are you?"

You're not scared, are you?

Spate swallowed hard and took another deep breath. Once he had regained his composure, he started out of the room to find the one who did this to him.

Steve sat down in a seat, cradling a bloody arm. Something had cut open his forearm; a cut about four inches long was there. He felt like something was in it, but not quite sure of what. He took a look around; saw Jill and Chris shining their flashlights out the windows. They confirmed that they were on the ground, and he was relieved for that. Rebecca had just finished checking Leon, from what he could see, Leon was in pretty good condition compared to everyone else. God knew that guy had been through hell in his past, so he deserved this bit of leisure.

We've all been through hell…

"I'm going to check on Rey." Rebecca announced, standing up and walking to the cockpit door. Steve watched her wearily, feeling as if a headache was forming, and she started to open the door. Claire was sitting next to him, agitated by the scratching noises they were hearing outside of the plane. Like something was trying to get in-

"Ah!"

Rebecca was knelt down in front of Leon, shining a flashlightacross his body."You don't feel any pain anywhere?"

Leon shook his head. "A bit, probably just bruises."

Rebecca nodded, and shone the flashlight across his face again. He had a few bruises already forming on the side of his face, nothing very bad. "Okay, good." Rebecca clicked the torch off and stood up, just as another screech came from outside. She wondered what it was, but quickly refocused on her task. She still had to check the pilot.

Rebecca looked over in Billy's direction; he was sitting on the arm of a chair, holding a hand to his bruised shoulder. The person who had been hurt the worst was Jeff, a large lesion across his forehead was bleeding badly, and he was holding a discarded towel to it, to try and stop the bleeding.

"I'm going to check on Rey." Rebecca said, looking in Billy's direction, and although she was looking at her too she wasn't talking to him specifically. The ex-S.T.A.R.S. medic walked over toward the cockpit door, another scratching noise from her right just before she pulled on the door handle and pushed the door open.

Rebecca flicked her light on and shone it into the room, she moved the beam of light around and finally saw-the dead pilot and a four-legged creature tearing chunks of bloody muscle from the body. Rebecca screamed and the creature looked at her, exposing it's bloody canine smile, red eyes glowing fearsomely in the light. She pulled the door shut, slammed it shut, and fell onto her rear, dropped her torch and scooted away from the door.

"Rebecca! What's wrong?" It was Leon that shouted, but Billy who was helping her to her feet.

"Dog! There's a damn dog in there eating Rey!" Rebecca could feel tears swelling up in her eyes, knowing that he was innocent in all of this, knowing that he shouldn't be dead. She watched Billy turn toward the door, and then back to her, frowning. By this time, everyone had crowded around them-and the zombie dog inside the cockpit started scratching at the cockpit door, the sound creepily familiar to what was scratching on the outside of the plane.

"Well then lets leave it in there and move on, try to find out where the hell we crashed." Billy suggested eagerly, not wanting anything to do with the dog.

Rebecca would admit that opening the door could be dangerous, it'd probably leap right out and attack- but I need the first aid equipment!

"I need to get to the first aid kits…" She mumbled, staring at the door, trying to think of another resolution. Nothing came to mind…

"Fine," Chris spoke up, detaching a flash grenade from his utility belt. "I'll crack the door and blind it with a grenade. Then I'll open it all the way…" Chris' voice wandered, and he looked around, his eyes stopping on Leon. "Then I want you to take it out."

"Gotcha." Leon said, conforming Chris' plan.

By this time, everyone had gathered around to see what the problem was. Rebecca stepped out of the walkway, like everyone else had done, while Leon stayed in the walkway. Chris positioned himself by the door, removed the pin but held on tight to the flash bang grenade. After cracking the door he slipped it into the room, and a flash of light burst out from underneath the door and around the edges. Without hesitation Chris kicked the door open and jumped out of the way.

Before she could even take a breath, Leon was already firing at the blinded beast, the laser equipped to the handgun quickly found its mark, and he released one, two-five shots. Out of all of the shots, only one went wild, hitting something in the darkness, the other four ripping into the rotten flesh of the thing that had once been a dog. It fell, two holes in its chest, one in its front leg, and the last in the left side of its head.

There was silence for a moment; the round laser marker not leaving the body of what resembled a Doberman Pincher until the spasms stopped completely.

"Go get what you need, and we're getting out of here." Chris said flatly as he turned to look at the dead animal inside the cockpit.

He didn't bother to knock; he simply rushed into the room, full of something like a mixture of fear, anger, and confusion. Wesker was standing by the windows when he came in rudely, shouting his name. Wesker began to remove his shades, but was stopped mid-action as Spate seized him by his jacket and pushed him up against the wall, demanding that he tell him something that Wesker had no idea of what he meant.

So there they were, Spates shadowed face under his cowl in Wesker's own. His shades were on the floor, his back against the wall, and the collar of his jacket in the fists of Spate. Wesker grimaced, and stared into the glowing goldenrod-color eyes that belonged to Spate. Wesker's own fierce, crimson, eyes locked with his for a moment before he decided to speak in a very calm way.

"Let go of me, Spate, and take a few steps back. Or else suffer the consequences." Wesker couldn't be mad at Spate…fore he was simply too intrigued by him to be angry. Spate, like a dog, let go of Wesker and stepped back obediently.

"Now, Spate, are you ready to settle this in a more civilized manner?" Wesker asked simply, fixing his jacket. He was surprised by Spate's sudden outburst that followed.

"What did you do to me, Wesker? Do you know what I've been through? All of this changing, the pain, the suffering, and now I have a voice telling me things! The voice is making me crazy, Wesker! I was just confronted by something that claimed to be the voice! Damn it, Wesker, I want some explanations for these things! I want the power, now! I want everything that you promised me, NOW!"

Wesker only grinned and leisurely walked to his desk and sat down on the edge of it and crossed his arms over his chest. "I can't give you what I promised, yet, Spate. This is something that will take time."

"Time?" Spate spat back. "I don't have time!" He took a step forward, clenching his fists at his sides. "I'll go crazy before I get anything!"

Intrigued, Wesker grinned at Spate. "Why do you keep saying that you're going to go crazy?"

Spate seemed to calm down a bit as he took a breath and looked up to the heavens, glowing orange eyes wandering away. Wesker watched him intently hoping, in some strange way, that what he was preparing to say would be as abnormal as he was letting on. "…For the last few days I've had a voice in my head. At first, it was just a silent whisper, hardly audible even if I was sitting in complete silence. Then it gradually grew louder after a period of two days, it's messages coming in loud and clear. It would tell me things, it would give me advice, and it seemed that every time it gave me advice, that advice would go against my conscious. Today when I was setting the timers for the missiles, it spoke to me." Spate stopped talking and lowered his head so that he met Wesker's own. After a few moments he began again. "Promise me you won't laugh…but I argued with the voice. The arguing gradually escalated, and as it did so the voice got angrier until the lights actually went out in the control room. But the lights in the lab were still on, and then I saw something standing in front of me, and the voice asked if that was real enough for me, and the lights came back on…"

Interesting… Truthfully Wesker never knew that the T-Virus could produce such effects…or was the fool just losing his sanity slowly? Wesker had thought that would happen to him when he joined Umbrella and learned of their experiments. But he eventually grew intrigued by them, and the sense of going crazy by seeing the creatures gradually went away. Then his repulsion for the creatures grew into a fascination, and appreciation for them. Which is what lead him to create and experiment on things himself. Well, not himself, but he ordered scientists to do it for him. He wasn't very good with those sorts of things, so he made others do it for him, just like Spate created the Gargoyle, and that guy Gregory back in the White House laboratory created the Kraken Series. Since then Spate had fooled with the Plaga's, Wesker had an extreme interest in those parasites. It was the earliest form, if you will, of the T-Virus. At least, that's what Wesker believed.

"Wesker…" Spate said, more of a question then a statement.

"Oops," Wesker whispered, "I lost myself in thought." A weird thing the mind was… "Well, Spate, I'm not quite sure what is causing this, but I'm sure its only a minor side effect of the viruses inside of your body." The mutating that Spate experienced was the cause of the G-Virus, Wesker wasn't sure what else he put in him, but suddenly wondered what it was. He had left those files in the previous island off the East Coast…too bad.

Realizing he had lost himself again, Wesker quickly went back on track, and pushed himself off of the edge of the desk as he began talking again. "Just try to get some rest, maybe your hungry, or thirsty. Those sorts of things cause hallucinations. Just be sure to be up before the missiles are launched. You'll witness something truly great my friend…"

"Of course." Spate said, nodding. "I'll go do that. Would you do me a favor and go into the labs, I was tampering with a few viruses earlier and I never put them back in their freezers, don't worry though, they are stabilized."

Wesker nodded. It was only a minor favor, one of hundreds that he owed Spate. Hell, he owed Spate his wife's life. And then, for the third time in the last five minutes, he was lost in thought once again. He couldn't imagine how he'd live life without Grace…it'd be hard. They have such a strong bond…He met her a few months after the Antarctica incident, just after he was 'repaired' for the second time since the Raccoon incident. Later down the road just before Umbrella's closing, and Ada being helped back to her feet by them, there was an accident in the labs. Grace was a member of the team responsible for mass-producing the Tyrant series creatures. It was quite complicated actually, because there were certain things that had to be done to the human specimens before they could be injected with the Virus and properly transform into the Tyrant's. In actuality, only one out of every million people could be transformed into a Tyrant, it was some sort of rare genetic thing. Wesker's likings for them lead him to pursue a way to mass-produce them, and with help of a few skilled scientists, he found those ways. It was a complicated procedure, but in the end it was worth it. Sadly, though, those Tyrant's weren't half as strong as the rarer Tyrants, and out of every fifty of them made, only two could be properly made into the Nemesis creature, the Tyrant that could follow orders.

Anyways, a Tyrant escaped from its pod, and attacked Grace. It was immature, so it lost energy quickly, and died soon after. She was injured badly, a puncture straight through her lower abdomen and through her lower back. Wesker had rushed her into the surgery room and had some of the most skilled surgeons that he could possibly find work on her. Of course he couldn't take her to a hospital, so they carried out the surgery right in one of the rooms where they performed surgery on some of the creatures created. She was about to die when Spate, then he was still human, came up with some idea. He warned of side effects but Wesker made him do it anyways. Ever since then, she's been absolutely fine. Only drawbacks were that anything that touched her for too long were absorbed into her, which was the reason she was always bare. It was something that he didn't understand, couldn't understand, and never would understand. But he didn't care as long as she was-

-The lights went out, and Wesker was snapped back into reality, taken aback at the sight of two floating red orbs next to Spate.

Rebecca was done, and they were moving out. The scratching had stopped for five minutes straight, and now they were outside in the dark, the only light coming from a half dozen flashlights. They were all stuck close together, making sure that not one direction was left without a pair of eyes watching it. Everyone was paired off with someone who had a flashlight. Leon and Ashley; Ada and Barry; Chris and Jill; Claire and Steve; Billy and Rebecca, and himself and Tara.

The forest was anything but quiet, leaves rustled, wind howled, and unknown noises came from somewhere far away and deep in the forest. Jeff gripped the handgun in one hand in front of him, in his other hand he held the flashlight that was held under his right hand, under the handle of the forty-five-caliber handgun. The beam of light split through the darkness, and revealed absolutely nothing at all but tree bark and leaves.

Tara was close to him, to his left. She gripped a handgun too, but he doubted she would ever use it.

"Alright," Jeff looked over toward Chris as he began speaking. "We must be on the island, and I'm guessing that the labs where Wesker is has to be north of the planes nose." It made sense, since they were flying toward the labs. "Let's get a move on. There's no telling what's out here. Stick close, stay with your partner, you see something, shoot it."

Orders were clear, and Chris didn't bother asking for questions as he started off north, using the nose of the plane as a compass. Everyone else followed, Jeff and Tara somewhere in between everyone else. Of course, they were two of the three less trained people in the group. Despite the fact that they were surrounded by pretty much all experienced marksmen, he was scared as hell-

Arroooooooo…

The sound that made him jump was easily identifiable, it was a dog, and more howls were joining the first, creating a chorus of howling canines that hauntingly seemed very close. The howls quieted down, and he heard a rustle to his left. Jeff turned quickly, shining the light where he heard the noise-

Oh shit!

Several dogs stood there, each one showing a toothy grin, the saliva that poured from their rotten mouths added a gloss to the killer teeth in their jaws. Each dog seemed to have been skinned, with large patches of skin missing, exposing shiny muscle tissue, but each had their own distinct problem. One was missing a large portion from its side, stringy tissue hanging from the hole in its belly. Another had a missing eye, a damp, dark place where it had once had been. The third seemed to have the side of its mouth ripped off, all the way back to directly under its ear, exposing red muscle and bone. The fourth had no ears and had a shiny gray ribcage protruding from its left side-

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!

Suddenly the dogs were literally being blown into chunks. Pieces of rotten skin exploding from their decayed bodies, finally one fell as a bullet made a hole for the dog's brains to leak through. Another fell riddled with bullets and finally the other two fell and Jeff realized everyone but the shooters, Leon, Billy, and Claire, were running.

"Go! Follow them!" An unknown voice stirred him into action, and he grabbed Tara and ran, pumping his legs, putting his basketball-player frame to good use as he flew through the forest. Tara was able to keep up, luckily, she was petite, and had ran track before becoming a cheerleader.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

More shots, and he looked over his shoulder and saw Leon just behind him, Claire not to far from him, but there was no Billy. The shots continued. There must have been a panicked look, or a look of concern anyways, on his face and Leon must have saw it because he spun around as if trying to see what Jeff saw. Maybe he feared there were dogs on their tail-

-"Billy!"-

-Or maybe he knew that Jeff was looking for Billy. Jeff didn't hear a response, and was pretty sure Leon didn't either because he shouted again. Although he was worried for Billy he knew that if he didn't set his mind to his primary goal, to escape the forest along with Tara, that he just might disappear too-

A blur of black and red, and a dog was in front of him, and he was still running. The dog leapt to the side and Jeff took a spill, hitting something hidden in the darkness-a rock or a tree root- in the process. He rolled onto his back, saw Tara just to his left, she'd fallen too-

Oof!

The dog was on top of him now, he hadn't even thought about it, he was too worried about her. The cannibalistic dog-creature-snapped at him, but he held it back, firmly gripping it around its throat to keep its teeth from getting him, and he realized that his thumb was inside of the dog. A flash of lightning at that moment revealed that the dog was riddled with holes, and his thumb was inside of one of them.

Disgusted, Jeff tried to push it off, but its power was incredible. It stood its ground, hell-bent on getting a taste of him. Likewise, he was hell-bent on doing whatever it took to keep that dog from doing so. Gun. Jeff reached for his gun, tucked into a holster on his waist, but kept his eyes on the animal that wanted to kill him. It took a few moments for him to find it, and when he did he pulled it out and jammed the muzzle of the gun under the dogs jaw and…

…the safety was on.

Spate gulped and looked out of the corner of his eye-and saw them, the floating red orbs, they were peering directly at him. He felt…unnerved. Despite all of the gruesome things he'd seen, the Lickers, the Hunters, Gargoyle, the Tyrants, the zombies, all of those horrible creations, somehow this just took the cake. Maybe it was because it was the first time he'd actually been face-to-face with something like this. When he'd seen those monsters, the spawn of the Viruses, they'd been behind bulletproof glass and reinforced walls. But this…ghost-like thing was…

Behind me!

It moved, almost to quickly for him to even realize. The crimson red eyes left a faint trail of red as they moved about. Spate spun, and ran into something that simply wasn't there. There was a deep laugh, and whatever he was touching had moved again, the glowing orbs following the motion. They moved from left to right, very slowly, hauntingly, stalking him.

"You see? Do you see Wesker? This is what I was talking about!" Spate shouted as he took a step back just as a sharp pain shot up his leg and traveled all the way to the base of his neck, and a very strong migraine started, but lasted no more then two seconds and it was gone. But his mind wasn't on that, he barely noticed anything that just happened to him, he was too intent on watching the…

Phantom. It's a damned ghost!

"Impossible…" He breathed, thinking aloud, eyes not leaving the other glowing red set. "It's impossible…"

"Impossible is nothing." Wesker spoke from behind him suddenly, and he hated the man for seeming so calm. How could he not be scared?

Because he's insane, that's why!

"Then kill it!" Spate spurted out, taking another step back as the eyes slowed to a stop. "Get rid of it!" Wesker didn't respond, and Spate glanced over his shoulder to see him watching the eyes casually, as if nothing was happening.

He's crazy…

Spate turned back around, almost forgetting about the ghost-and it was gone again. Where could it have gone so quickly? He only had his head turned two seconds…no way it was that fast! Impossible! Spate looked around frantically, but it was nowhere to be seen. At the moment he realized this, the lights sputtered back on and he could breath again.

"Did you see that?" Wesker breathed, seemingly excited by their ghost friend.

"How could I not?" He replied angrily. "I told you! It's a ghost…or…at least I think so, right?"

Wesker shrugged. "There is a creature that has the ability to blend in with its environment…but its an insect-like creature, a product of the Plaga. I forget it's exact name, but its very similar to what we just saw, it's invisible, but the air around it still ripples when it moves…Might be an evolution of one of them."

"Or the result of another of those twisted experiments." Spate said, disgusted. Not only at the experiments, but how calm, and intrigued Wesker was about what had just happened. He looked over at Wesker, but couldn't see any emotion on his face. His dark glasses hid his eyes, so Spate wasn't sure if he was mad or not…

"…Twisted…?" He said, barely above a whisper. Spate couldn't tell by his still voice if he was calm or- "Twisted?" He repeated, louder, voice booming. He was definitely mad now- "You dare call them twisted?" Wesker snickered. "You don't know the meaning of twisted. These experiments are not twisted! Their conception! Every experimentation leads to the birth of a new, and marvelous being that not even God thought of making. These are great and wonderful creatures, creatures that you and myself pale in comparison too. And you call them twisted…and you work to create them. Hypocrite! If you despise them so much, and despise the research that is conducted, then leave!"

Spate was slightly taken aback by this, and stood there, speechless, for a few moments before simply walking out of the room to leave Wesker to fume. It hadn't been the first time he struck a cord somewhere in Wesker…and quite frankly he couldn't figure him out. Maybe the guy was going insane or something…

Going insane? He thought as he walked down the bright hallways, laughing at his own joke. He'd go to the lounge, get some coffee, maybe a few donuts, then head to his room and get some sleep. Screw working.

NO!

Fear took over at that fatal moment. The trigger was stiff, safety was on, and he truthfully had no idea where the safety switch was located. At about that time, his hand slipped from around the putrefying neck of the beast, and the its entire weight fell on top of him, one heavy paw coming down hard on his wrist, causing him to drop the handgun. It barked, a sign of victory, he was sure it was about to take a chunk out of him. This was it, all over. After everything that had happened, being attacked and infected by that mutant creature, living through the fight with Kainite, fighting the virus, he would die by a damned cannibal dog. He would be mauled to death-

TAT-ATAT-ATAT-ATAT

He wasn't sure exactly what had happened but the dog was lying at his side, it's corpse riddled with bullets, blood spilling from each individual hole. He could only stare at its mutilated carcass, a feeling as if his heart would break through his ribcage at any moment as if pounding heartbeat brought on a new rush of adrenaline. He didn't know whom, how, or what…all he knew was that he was alive.

"You okay?" Jeff turned his head toward the speaker. The talker was tall, and well built with long hair. He was holding a M-16…it was Billy, the guy he thought might have died a few moments ago. Jeff nodded quickly and Billy held out a hand to help him up. Jeff grasped it firmly, and Billy helped pull him to his feet. Once to his feet, he was almost knocked back down when Tara leapt into his arms, sniffling.

"Sorry, Jeff. I couldn't get a clear shot." Leon said from behind. Jeff just nodded and bent down to retrieve his handgun as soon as Tara let go of him.

"You have to be careful." Billy said, putting a hand on his shoulder, the other holding the heavy Assault Rifle. "It's survival of the fittest out here. Next time you might not be too lucky."

It wasn't exactly inspiring words, but it was the truth. Jeff nodded, understanding what he was told.

"Hey! You guys okay? The dogs are all gone, and we can see Wesker's place up ahead. Come on!" The speaker was Rebecca, and she disappeared into the brush as quickly as she came. Everyone followed suite.

Jeff couldn't help but wander as they jogged through the forest to catch up with everyone else, what was awaiting them…

A/N: I bet you're all happy I finally got another one up, huh? Tell me what you think about it: love it, hate it, whatever. Please continue reading and reviewing guys! Your responses motivate me to keep writing! I'll try to get them up quicker! I'm off this Thursday from school, and Thanksgiving Break starts next Tuesday so I should be able to get chapters up quicker!

PEACE