Chapter 7

After finally removing his gaze from the door leading outside, Shawn decided he had to get moving, and fast. The eerie silence added to that decision, making him feel queasy and dizzy with adrenaline. He had checked the kitchen; nothing of importance there unless he wanted a butter knife or butcher's knife to fend with. The two doors, one on the left and one on the right, beckoned his presence. But just to play it safe, he decided to crack open each door and pick the less threatening-looking of the two. A stupid move, but it made him feel more reassured.

Just stop being a child and go. You're a trained professional for God's sake.

But with the little ammo he had, going in head first seemed absurd (if only the machine gun wasn't an Uzi Carbine using the .380 ACP rounds). Besides, he didn't particularly like the idea of taking on any blood-sucking fiends barehanded.

The door on the left opened to a hall stretching across to another door, the hall itself nearly twice the length of the kitchen's. It was uncomfortably narrow with well-lit torches aligned along its walls. Gothic-style windows lined the wall to the left, clearly depicting the dark, forested outdoors.

Okay, next door . . .

Shawn peered through the other door and saw a rather large table, bigger than the one in the kitchen. The room was a bit more soothing. A fireplace of some sort hid behind a cart filled with various types of liquor, the flames actually still flickering vitally. A giant chandelier holding lit, beautifully crafted candles hung over the center of the pleasant room. From the ornate decorations to the tall and packed bookshelves, the room was quite a wonder.

Proceeding through the room, he noticed only one door to the far left. Just before reaching it, he heard a dull thump, like something huge in a nearby room fell. His heart sank at the thought of that monster in the woods, but he managed the courage to grab the knob and turn. In his other hand, he held his Uzi firmly, ready to fire at anything that would as much as jump or bite or whatever. To his surprise, the next room was quite empty. Lots of boxes were strewn about in stacks, biohazard symbols etched on the sides. Shawn swallowed hard, thinking again about the parasites Eva described.

Chest-poppers . . .

He shuddered, then closed the door after realizing that the storage room led nowhere else. He should've burned the room down to ashes, but God only knew what kinds of materials were kept hidden in there. Shawn sighed, the idea of heading down that other hall gnawing at his weakened stomach. On his way back to the kitchen, something caught his eye. Above the fireplace, there was an emblem of a shield. It was half red and half white, a monstrous winged creature at the center of the decor. Slightly above the monster was an indentation. The shape resembled-

-it's the shape of the statuette!

Shawn popped out the statuette, the figure still intact, although smeared a crimson red. He studied the stone model of a man holding a sword downward; an exact size. The stone fit perfectly into the indentation, the picture on the shield complete and depicting a man striking a beast with his sword. The wall beside the fireplace lifted upward, startling Shawn off his feet.

A secret passage in an old, gothic mansion in the middle of nowhere. Didn't see that coming. How anticlimactic . . .

He neared the open doorway, taking a quick glance inside, and then, saw something oh so beautiful on top of a desk; an auto shotgun, a dream come true. He mentally thanked the poor guy who perished under the burning vehicle for his help, wondering how he managed the strength and mentality to give him the stone. Maybe he meant to give it to somebody else?

Regardless, he hefted it, the reassuring weight of heavy firepower. The gun wasn't loaded, but a shit load of bullets lay in boxes nearby. There was also a note. The Romanian letters that were written on it gave him a sort of angered frustration, realizing that he was lousy at the language and he'd lost the "How to" book sometime during the chaos.

The thought of struggling to read it and waste time pushed forth a weak feeling inside. He felt getting the hell out was of more importance. Shawn hesitantly pocketed the paper after a quick fold, suddenly noticing the sympathy he felt for that guy who'd died. He'd probably left a message to whomever he meant to save. As he loaded the shotgun, he then mentally promised to make the ringleader of those monstrous clowns pay dearly for what they've done.

-THUMP.

Again, the noise, louder and more profound, causing him to turn around instantaneously. Although it sounded closer, there seemed to be no other thumps afterwards. Clenching the reloaded auto shotgun tightly, his attention swiftly shifted to what lay past the next hall. But still, he found it hard to ignore it. Could that noise be some sort of trap? Or could it be the sound of another monster or vampire? Gazing thoughtfully at the emblem on the fireplace, it wouldn't surprise him if the giant house was built just for those kinds of things. He nervously stepped closer to the door leading to the kitchen, when from behind him, there was a deafening crash of stone and splintering wood. Even as he turned around, he could hear the heavy breathing of the behemoth-of-a-creature that it was. His heart sinking into his gut, pounding, he briefly paused, trying to choose a way out. However, staring fearfully at the visage was unavoidable- the creature from the woods had come to finish him.

W E S K E R

It had been fairly easy to take things under control anew. HCF supported him again, supplying the various bio weapons on file. Besides the fact that he "manufactured" them himself, there was also the amount of money and effort he put into the production line and the reestablishing of a successful organization that testified to his rights. HCF had always hovered over Umbrella, even before its demise. It had been a stroke of luck that he joined them. Well, at least that's what they thought. It appeared that the mission previous had proven to be of great worth after all. . .

As for the Zalamel cults, the Elitists and Marauders together had made quick work of them(even though there was one Elitist that strayed away near a river); he'd seen most of their struggles via tracker cameras. No matter. He had planned to eliminate them when, or if, they would catch on. At any rate, he had acquired the info he needed from the cults in exchange for false vials of the T-virus, whatever they needed it for. Pathetic amateurs. They almost outranked the Los Illuminados at the intellectual level, almost.

And once they disappear, there will be only the pesky U.S. search parties to watch out for. But even then, my goals would have seen fruition.

Wesker then sat back and intently began to muse over the whereabouts of his agent, Ada Wong. She had taken off with the money he reluctantly gave her. He actually wanted for her to continue helping with his projects, but he sensed a kind of avoidance from her. Besides the fact that she attempted to give him the fake Plagas sample even though Krauser retrieved a true sample before his death, Wesker knew, even felt, before they even agreed to help each other out, that there was something else to her-

. . .What on earth.

Something caught his attention, breaking him off from his brown study. The monitor screen in front of him flickered lightly as he struggled to take in what was depicted before his eyes. One of his tracker cams reached the secluded old Umbrella facility he had harbored his scientists in. Immediate testing of the X strain was expected to proceed in there, yet what he saw through the screen was a dead body. But not just a dead body, but a rising dead man with a blood-stained lab coat, getting up, dimly unaware of its wounds. Upon closer examination, his face appeared empty and expressionless.

A zombie, no doubt.

Even as he thought about it, his stomach tensing with writhing frustration over a spill, he remembered the new agent that had arrived much earlier. He fumbled for the nearest communicator device, reminding himself that looking professional was of the lowest importance; the HCF dogs under his command were mindless pets, now.

Come on, answer the damn-

No reply sounded from the receiver. The agent must've been quite busy. Perhaps the Americans were making things hard? Either way, he wouldn't stand for it. As long as only the T-virus spilled, there was still a chance for the X strain to be salvaged. He would have the agent recover it at all costs, have it moved into one of his more securely hidden labs.

Well, Wesker, your impulsiveness in this operation has proved ever so helpful yet again.

Then, it suddenly dawned on him, his mental voice scolding at him for not realizing it sooner. The T-virus spilled. . . ! It was the Zalamel bastards. They actually used him in their attempt to revive the X strain. Wesker just smiled, finding it all so ironic. No way in hell. They must've not only known about the rare strain, but also had the access all along. The virus repaired and revitalized the parasitic strain, allowing them to. . .

Wesker chuckled softly to himself, tapping in several keys in response. He reversed the cryogenic state of his newest imports, their perfectly motionless, suspended bodies still inside the giant tubes. The T-248's, what he nicknamed "manikins", were awakened. It was probably the best time to also release the "Hydras" he had so often anticipated to see in action.

"You will all suffer at their hands, infidels," he muttered, nearly overtaken by his excitement. It was time to initiate the extermination.

D R A K E

Reaching instinctively for the nine-millimeter, Drake turned first to the nearest of the noises, back at the waiting room. He quickly glanced at the other two; Sam's blue eyes just showed utter terror and helplessness, while Cliff seemed ready and determined. He was surprising him by the second, a young man who didn't fear the bastards, or at least did a hell of a job hiding it. He made a sudden nod toward the opposite end, a sign to cover where the other noise sounded from.

Drake grabbed hold of the knob, palms so sweaty that his hands slipped off of it slightly. Once the knob gave, he kicked open the wooden door and pointed the gun at-

At a man. . . ?

A live man stood before him dressed in a lab coat, the cataracts standing out easily beneath his worry-weathered eyes. He looked like in his later forties, early fifties, and on a verge of a breakdown.

"W-who. . . what are. . ."

The words just wouldn't come out of his mouth, the man in a shocked state. He was holding the right side of his chest, several stains of blood on certain areas of his white coat. Behind him, blasts were being shot, causing Drake to turn his head and see, but not faltering his aim at the scientist.

"Damn it, he won't fall!" Cliff shouted, a few more clattering rounds being shot. He backed up a bit and slammed the door shut in order to gain some time and space. Sam ran a hand swiftly through her long, brown hair, saying something rapid and inaudible.

The thing-that-wouldn't-die began to bang mindlessly against the steel door, its moaning ghostly. Cliff ran up to keep it closed.

"It's a zombie, a goddamn zombie," Cliff said, his voice strangled as he put his otiose weight on the door.

When Drake turned back to the injured man, he had already edged his way over despite having a gun pointed to his face. He was babbling something in a shaky, unrestrained tone, oblivious to everything else that was going on.

"L-listen! You have to get help! There are still others. . . downstairs! You must help them! The T-virus and the strain. . . you must do something-ugh! The pain, I can't take it anymore!"

"Calm down," Drake ordered forcefully, but at that point, the man was tightening his grip on his chest, more toward the center. He knew what was next. And in blur of a second, the pale, skinny creature came bursting out from his chest, blood, bone, and sinew erupting in a quick splash, drowning out the man's cries of anguish.

"Shit!"

A quick veer toward the back and he saw Cliff firing again, then he turned around to see the creature already lurching toward him, its enlarged incisors shining a bright white. Its fetal features beamed wetly against the lights above, the sticky slapping noise of its running alerting Drake.

He fired two rounds into its vein-riddled chest, a deep gurgling sound following. It rolled backward and jumped back up to its feet, ready to strike once more.

S A M A N T H A

Sam felt a surge of utter uselessness, standing around and staring in awe at the creatures that couldn't exist. The zombie seemed to ignore her even as it staggered only seven feet away. The fetid odor it emitted became stronger, causing Cliff to scoff as he fired one, two shots, Drake directly behind him firing at someone who must've transformed. As Sam backed up near the paper-riddled desk, she could see the other zombies, at least three others, reeling their way to them stupidly.

God, can't be happening, can't be happening. . .

There was a sudden wet, yet crunching sound as Cliff managed a head shot. The zombie in the white, bloodied coat crumpled forward, not a sound or movement coming from it.

"Head shots," Cliff muttered slowly, still appalled by the zombie's resistence. It didn't even feel anything! At least the vampires felt something.

It was quite apparent that the embryos' weakness was not in the head, strangely. Drake gave three head shots in a row, the white skinny creature's head barely recognizable. Drake let out a cry of pain as the creature managed to claw his legs. It wasn't until she heard him yelling frantically that she saw it. The monster was on top of him, biting into his neck, no, sucking at his neck for blood!

"Cliff, help him! Hurry!" she yelled, wincing and simultaneously trying to find something, anything to attack the bony thing with. Cliff had finished off a second zombie assailant, a large, gaping hole in its putrid eye socket. It hadn't even fallen to the ground when he swung around, trying his best to aim at the thing.

"Try to be still," he advised, knowing all too well that he couldn't, Drake's arms flailing wildly.

As the next zombies approached, entering through the doorway much slower, as if Cliff's back to them was an easy invitation. Sam immediately struck the first one with a rather thick, hefty book she tossed. It hit it square in the face, knocking it and the ones behind it back into the next room. She pushed over the desk as hard as she could in order to bar the way through, even as the moans and clawing persisted.

Shouldn't get past that.

The vampire thing was already dead, a back shot delivered by Cliff making the bite its final stand. Drake seemed okay, rubbing at his small bite wound, which already began to clot and heal. He just appeared a bit jolted.

"Jesus, are you alright, Drake?" Sam asked worriedly, putting her hand on his shoulder as if to ease the moment. He didn't answer, a shaky smile the only response.

". . .Thanks," he said at last, giving Cliff a brisk nod.

"Hey, we gotta stay alive," he replied. Cliff began to count bullets, his eyes trained more so on the trembling door.

"There," Drake managed to say rather loudly, pointing at the corpse of the vampire's host. "He has a gun. Take it." He had directed it to Sam, her fragile face expressing confusion and certainty all at once. And as he approached the nearly torn-down wooden door, she realized what he was suggesting. His look was serious, almost demanding. Even if he was being a bit brusque, she understood he was trying to protect her.

"Go, now. He said there were survivors downstairs. Try to find a safe spot, we'll catch up-"

The sound of the door coming off its hinges clattered, cutting off his last words, the hungry noises emanating louder causing a fear inside her that made her want to cry. Instead, she gripped the handgun tightly and nodded.

"Be careful, and watch out for Cliff."

With those final words, she descended into the basement of Hell.

S H A W N

Shawn gazed at the monstrous beast once more, the crash happening in less than a second. By the next second, he had been backing away. Even with the new loaded weapon, he still felt his instincts, telling him to run. He crashed through the door leading back into the kitchen, dashing for the cramped hall he passed up before, not realizing that the monster would quickly outrun him in less than a minute.

The creature of darkness swung just as he fell through the creaky door, giving chase almost immediately. Sprinting through the long narrow hall, the gray giant seemed to cease pursuit, but Shawn knew to keep running, that it had to be another of its tricks. And surely enough, midway through the narrow stip of hallway came the monster, irrupting downward and violently, landing in a crouch and stalking from that position almost instantaneous. If the door at the end was locked, he didn't want to know what the grinning grotesque would do.

At the moment of truth, nothing but the constant ringing in his ears sounded. His heart pounded as though it were trying to escape his chest, the time becoming minutes instead of seconds. He firmly grasped the thin, long metallic knob and pulled down. The door remained. The knob refused to turn, the ominous design of some dragon depicted on the door, also grinning wickedly as if to ridicule him at his final moment of life. He swung around, not wanting to, but feeling that maybe there could be some other way. This far down the hall had no windows; his life would be taken by a gamble. The creature's beady, black pupils appeared feral and savage, wanting his death so badly for unknown reasons. It would impale him in seconds, spill his blood for the sake of just watching him writhe in pain. But it didn't.

Shawn looked up after hearing the popping sound of a rifle from somewhere above. A second shot, and he noticed that it came from the floor above, where the brute had torn through. Quite bothered, the eight-foot monster turned his head to the sniper, who was sheathed in darkness, the shots apparently effective. It bled through the few holes on its back, Shawn noticed. With its attention diverted, he knew it had to be now, or he'd be dead.

He held the shotgun in place and fired, the shot going directly at its right cheek. It barely flinched, its grin now a skeletal portrayal, crimson blood pouring where its right ear should've been. Another blast at its massive chest and the beast was reeling backward, actually staggering for balance. It fell down on one knee and a red light passed across its still-expressionless face, following a pop of a rifle and the spray of blood and wet chunks as the once adept monster was taken out.

"Must've been an angel. . ." he thought, his body beginning to feel sick with fear and relief at the same time. The monster was finally dead.

Shawn heard the footsteps above edge toward the hole. Then, he or she jumped down. He couldn't believe his eyes. It was Jim, one of his fellow agents! Amazed and thrilled to see another person like him, Shawn was practically speechless.

"Did'ya think I was dead, buddy?" he asked casually, a crooked smile forming on his worn features. He was sweaty as hell, probably also running from the horror.

Jim was one of the few people who actually believed him from the start regarding his dreams and whatnot. They really weren't the best of friends, but they held great respect for one another, and for some inexplicable reason, Jim seemed to trust Shawn's words. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he was also in that strange city.

"Jim! I couldn't be happier to see you."

Before he could say anything else, Jim turned slowly away, the expression on his scarred face grim.

"Were you bitten?" he asked him softly, his voice full of sorrow and other feelings Shawn couldn't describe.

"No," Shawn answered simply, with a surprised undertone.

"Good," he replied, putting his one hand over his weary face. He turned around at last, and grinned a false grin.

"Where're the rest of the team? Are they. . ."

Shawn trailed off, trying to find the answer on Jim's face. His smile seemed to fade very slowly.

"Some of them are waiting at an old castle nearby. As for the rest, you don't want to know."

Shawn's eyes widened. There was a bittersweet feeling amidst all that had happened. His comrades had survived for the most part. However, he wouldn't know how to cope with the deaths of those agents. Most of them were like brothers and sisters to him. They all trained together, had drinks together, and shared their past and future dreams.

"Why did you head over here?" Shawn asked with a puzzled expression.

"Well, I know it sounds crazy, but I met a peculiar girl. She was beautiful, and riding a Kawasaki Concours motorcycle, no less! She possibly saved my life, fighting to defend the front door to the castle from those vampire ass-wipes. After I was the last one standing in my platoon, she mowed down the last with a single dual machine gun. Then, she told me. . . to find you."

Eva. . .

"Me?" Shawn said, almost to himself.

"Yeah, she told me where you had probably ended up and said she'd be waiting somewhere in the castle, that she'd assist the others."

Shawn was stunned. Not only did Eva somehow survive from that strange man, Hisaru, but she found and fought alongside his fellow men. It was then that he concluded that there was more to her story than what she made it out to be. Even before, her explanation for being here was a bit sketchy. He would have said that maybe meeting him was a flaw in whatever plans she had, but he knew all too well that she had deliberately met up with him. Why? He couldn't say.

"What the hell are we waiting for?" Shawn asked with a grin full of renewed strength. "Lets get the hell out of this shit hole and find the others. We can make our final stand. Hell, we can find some way to contact our people and give them coordinates. . ."

Shawn trailed off, noticing that unmistakable look of something like distress. Before he could even think of words to say, Jim replied in an equally morbid tone.

"Shawn, there will be no rescue."