Disclaimer: I don't own any of the names, characters or places lifted from the already existing Resident Evil universe. Nor do I own any of the products mentioned in the text. I don't get any profit from this. In fact, if you want to give me piles of cash because you think the story is so good, you can't.

Before anyone starts laughing and pointing I'd like to apologize for any misspellings and grammatical curiosities. (Translating into English forces me to think and it really slows me down.)

As a last note I'd like to warn that the text does contain some bad language and violence (mostly zombies getting their heads smashed in), so if you are offended by this, or just aren't interested, I suggest you turn around right now.

Resident Evil: T-QR

Episode 02:"Neighbours, Everybody Needs Good Neighbours"

It was a good drive down to the nearest neighbours. With the Subaru it was a challenge, with the Dodge it was home ground. The solid headlights lit up the bumpy road in front of him; the sun had just disappeared as he had spun the pickup out of the yard - the woods were now dark. Warm, yellow squares appeared in between the old stems.

It was a beautiful house; white and beige stone, though Nat had never understood why it had been raised out here. It had been built at the same time as Umbrella had moved into town, and apparently it was owned by someone who worked there. Not that there was anything strange with that, nearly one fifth of Raccoon City's population worked for the company in one way or another.

The drive had cleared his head a bit and a lot of the initial rage had subsided. Nat had more or less decided not to kill the first and best candidate he came across when suddenly something was in the road I front of him. It was there only for a heartbeat, then the car jolted and the windscreen bent inwards and went milky white.

Nat noticed something being flung over the roof and a dumb thump hitting the platform. In front of him he only saw the reflection of someone deep in a mixture of pure terror and concentration. He was clinging to the steering wheel, but unable to prevent anything as his world was tilted sideways. Only now it struck him to let off the gas. He stood on the brakes. Either these were the best brakes he had ever encountered, or he hit something.

The Dodge was lying on its side and Nat spat airbag powder. He was pushed down against the door by the force of gravity, and a very heavy bag. Knocking it over his head he loosened the safety belt and began to climb.

Opening the other door wasn't easy, and squeezing out while it wanted to keep him in wasn't fun either. It slammed shut under him. The pickup had gone straight into a huge rock in the side of the road, and the entire driver side was smashed in. The passenger side lights were still on, but blinking.

Nat jumped down, and felt how his entire body ached. It seemed he had gotten off free, until he got a glimpse of his right arm. There was a tear in his black jacket and a gash in his slightly embarrassingly pale upper arm. It didn't seem to bleed to bad, but it did hurt.

The platform of the pickup had a steel toolbox bolted to the front of it. As the lid opened loos equipment came stumbling out. Some of it was held fast with straps, however, among them a solid looking flashlight about the length of his upper arm. He turned it on, and standing with the flipped floor right in front of him Nat saw traces of blood all along the wood. It looked like it had been made by several thick brushes, scraped across the top of the car.

The rear lights shone down the side of the road, but hit to much bush and gravel to give him any real aid. A little uneasy Nat began searching the strip of road. He found a leg sticking out of a bush. Unfortunately the bush didn't contain any more than that one leg. In fact, it was only half a leg, severed at the knee.

"Hello?" Nat called. "Is there anybody… out there?" He realized that if this person was capable of hearing him, and would have been able to answer, Nat probably already would have known where he lay.

Hurtled in a heap, with his back twisted in an impossible angle and his arms and leg stretched out like a jointless rag doll, the man seemed lifeless. The exposed skin shone pale in the light from the torch. In fact it almost looked grey. Nat started to circle him, and discovered that one side of his face had been smashed in. He turned the light away immediately, and decided that checking for a pulse was unnecessary.

It was probably the drugs, and safe to say surreal events of the day that could be blamed. Nat felt nothing for the person he had just run over. Internally he felt all numb. But he wasn't so far gone that he wouldn't report this. There was no phone in the car, and he didn't carry one himself.

He was already on the neighbour's property. In the dim light he could just make out the plants, bushes and trees of the garden. He also saw movement in the rooms with the lights on. The crash must have made considerable noise, so why nobody had come to look was a bit of a mystery.

After only two steps he stopped, turned around and climbed back up on the car. Something was off, there was no question about that, and he wasn't going to run into some hick-fest without protection. He jerked the car door open and fished the bag up. The door slammed shut and Nat laid the dark brown bag on the cracked window. He dropped the flashlight in and pulled out one of the guns and stuffed it into his pants, hiding it with the jacket.

Close up he saw that many of the windows seemed to be boarded up from the inside. Dark surfaces had replaced curtains and the faint reflection of the rooms inside. Many of the windows were also broken, and he noticed another detail; all the windows had a fine, but obviously strong metal grids in front of them.

Nobody answered the doorbell. The door seemed unlocked, but Nat couldn't get it open. Instead he started walking around the house, hoping to find another way in, or maybe get verbal contact with one of the ever increasingly strange inhabitants.

A form suddenly passed one of the intact windows, and Nat shouted. He even tapped on the window through the grid, but with no result. The inside seemed to be bombarded. Furniture had been thrown around, cabinets were tumbled over and anything breakable inside smashed on the marble floors.

Even the back door, placed on one end of an external hallway, with one side replaced with a row of columns, was securely blocked. It wasn't until he got to the other side of the big house that an entrance presented itself to him. One of the grids had been ripped clean of the wall, some of the wallboards were broken and several of them bent out. Inside was a hallway, and as he climbed in he thought he heard the sound of a helicopter in the distance.

There was a distinct smell in the room. Like something had been rotting for a couple of days. Also, there were stains certain places on the walls and floor that he couldn't quite identify. It seemed smeared on, like old cheese spread across toast.

The door at the end led to a small waiting room with a purple sofa piled up against a wall, two matching purple and stainless steel chairs thrown randomly around with a low broken coffee table under a crocked painting of a stylized wave, some boats and a mountain in the background.

Another door at the other end stood ajar. Nat thought he heard movement; rattling in cloths. He pushed the door all the way up, and saw a group of seven or eight people standing with their backs to him. All were hunched over and seemed to do nothing other than stand there.

Large broken windows let the night in. A cool breeze rolled across the stained, but shiny, marble floor and made the long curtains sway like ghosts. Modern looking columns and arches decorated the walls of the light beige living room. Pictures had obviously been hanging between the slim columns, but were now lying with broken frames and shattered glass on the floor.

"Excuse me, I…" As he spoke the men and women turned, their cloths ripped and shredded, they're skin pale grey and they're faces and necks covered with wounds and bite marks. "Excuse…" he tried again, captured by the unreal sight. The zombies went for him immediately.

Jaws flapping open with bit-off tongues and broken teeth suddenly came limping towards him. Nat backed off along the wall with the door he had come in through. He kept trying to talk to them, mostly out of reflex. They didn't respond, other than with groaning sounds and an arm-wavering that totally freaked him out.

Eventually he backed into a corner. He felt something hard against the small of his back, and remembered the piece. He drew. "I've got a gun!" he yelled. The closest guy was no more than five feet away, and Nat let it rip. Recoil tore through his arm and the wounded shoulder and nearly caused him to drop the gun. The 50 calibre slug hit the guy high in the torso, close to his left shoulder.

But it did practically nothing. The bullet span out of his shoulder blade and struck another guy behind him in the stomach, and did even less damage. Nat supported with his left arm and fired again, this time directly at the guy's head, and practically at point blank range. A whole the size of a silver dollar seemed to magically appear just over the man's left eye, and the back of his head exploded. A sticky jelly of almost black blood, grey brain matter and pieces of yellowish bone got evenly spread out over the followers.

The guy went down, sunk like a sack of potatoes, suddenly without strength. The others didn't seem to notice. Nat continued to shave rounds off the magazine, but the five remaining bullets went too fast. Three guys and a girl lay dead when the Colt clicked. He stuffed the gun back and looked around in desperation. He saw a tall, black, wrought-iron candlestick to his left, and grabbed it.

The candles were missing, but it had five cups to place them in at the top, and they dug themselves into the closest head with disgusting ease. The man was forced back as Nat threw his weight forwards. It created a path for him to momentarily escape. He rushed over the littered floor to the large broken windows, only to discover that the metal grid was just as strong as he had anticipated.

There was no getting out this way. The living room had more doors, but Nat figured the one he had come in through was his best bet. He did a good circle along the columned wall, over the broken masterpieces - never taking his eyes of the zombies, till he passed the seven empty shells and reached the door.

He tore it open and slammed it shut in the same movement. The waiting room was full, and apparently the waiting was over. Around a dozen bodies, Nat hadn't really taken the time to count, threw them selves against the door. Luckily Nat had gotten it properly closed, and these guys on the other side didn't seem to be too into the mechanics of doorknobs.

This open door wouldn't hold the herd for long. And if he stayed holding it shut the remaining four in here would get him. In the last instance he got himself to let go. He almost fell sideways out of the way of the closest one. Candlestick-head had only gotten as far as to the centre of the room, and obviously struggled with his new attribute. His body wanted to go and get the new food, but his head only went in circles.

Nat grabbed the stake and pulled it out, with a soul wrenching suction sound. He swung it and splattered the remaining head like a rotten melon, as the door smashed open and hell joined the dance. Around a dozen had been a severe understatement, Nat realized.

The damn doorframe didn't seem to want to stop puking out living dead. Nat gave one of the originals a good swing before he went for one of the other doors. It was open and he ran through, without even considering what might be waiting on the other side. It was a short hallway with the same columns and arches along the walls. Other than that it was empty.

The hallway wasn't too wide, and since the door opened inwards he could place the long candlestick across it, jammed into the décor on both sides. It probably wouldn't hold forever, but he should buy himself some time.

Easing the door at the other end up gently a dancehall came into view. It was an atrium with the circular balcony of the first floor halfway up, and a part glass part stone vault at the top. The ground floor had columns and arches under the balcony. Zombies, nine or ten of them, waltzed around mindlessly.

Behind him the poorly constructed bar wasn't doing its job. Nat eased into the hall, hoping not to attract anybody's attention, but it was like they could smell him. He grabbed a chair not too far away and smacked one of the un-dead over the head. Another swing and his head cracked.

Nat jammed the chair under the door handle. This would keep the hordes for a lot longer. Turning his attention to the next problem in line, eight zombies were still dragging them selves towards him. But they were split up and doing slalom in between them to get to the doors on the other side wasn't too difficult.

Expecting that one door was as good as another, Nat ripped one open and peered in. The hallway behind was clear except one solo legion of the dead. As the mob in the dancehall was now regrouping Nat decided to take his chances with the loner. Before he moved in he broke the leg of a table. It was good and solid; slim at the bottom and thick and square at the top, made of dark wood.

Closing the door behind him he figured he had one good chance at this. If he fucked up it could get messy. Elevating the club above his head he ran at the zombie. Four feet away he slammed down the weapon, planting it thoroughly through the man's head and well into his torso.

Stuff you would only expect to find inside a rotting corpse came flying out. Nat quickly, and panicky, shaved the stuff of off his face, almost loosing control to that need to just lie down and twitch. The body went down sideways, and Nat passed him whilst he pulled the club out.

Checking the doors almost blindly he found one that was open and went in. It was a bedroom with a single double bed and big windows. It seemed empty and Nat went straight for the bathroom. He yanked up the handle on the sink and shoved his face and head in under the ice cold water.

The gunk that came off him was greyish pink and stank of pet-not-fed-for-a-couple-of-weeks. Far from convinced he was clean he straightened up, only to see someone in the mirror with him. It was a young woman, in a short red dress, and she hissed at him and went for his throat. Nat shot out both his arms to keep her at a distance.

Her hands grabbed his jacket and tried to pull him closer, for a French kiss it seemed. But Nat wasn't that kind of a guy. He tried to push her backward in the cramp bathroom, and smash her into the wall - or maybe some fancy rich-guy décor that could jam into her back. He found no such thing.

The club was still standing up against the sink where he had left it. He gave her a thrust towards the door and let go with one hand. He had the melee-weapon in it seconds later, and managed to get a strike in over her shoulder. It most defiantly fell out of its socket. With the arm hanging almost right out of the front of her chest she stumbled out.

Standing still for a moment, about nine feet away, the thick, dark hair with bright highlighting framing her face Nat suddenly realized she had probably been strikingly beautiful ones. The next moment she went for him, and Nat knocked her head clean off with a winning high swing.

There were footsteps in the hallway outside, so Nat hurried to the door and closed it. The key was in the lock, so he finally managed to carve himself some room to think. There was one more door out of the bedroom. Another hallway on the other side, narrow, empty and not as decorated as the others. The door couldn't be locked, but it opened inwards, so a chair under the old knob would suffice.

There was a cupboard with three drawers in it. The two top ones contained cloths, but the one at the bottom had a glass lid, and Nat saw serious looking guns on the other side. The lid had a digit keyboard, and required a code which Nat obviously didn't have. He slammed it with the butt of his empty gun, and upgraded the glass to Plexiglas.

Recognizing a loosing battle he gave up. Instead his eyes fell on a piece of paper lying on top of the cupboard.

It had a single line written on it.

Nat read it.

It was bullshit.

If one of these cupboards held weapons, then maybe there were more, Nat thought. He looked under the bed, behind mirrors and paintings, but didn't strike home before he almost tipped over a wardrobe. On the top shelf, behind some linen sheets, he pulled out a three foot, mat black object. It was a sword, but not like one of those you would see in movies set in some ancient time. This one looked modern, almost military, and when he pulled the single-edge blade out of the scabbard it was mat black as well.

The scabbard had four straps connected to it, and it become clear that the thing went on his back. It would be difficult with the jacket on. He took it off and cut a slit on the back, just under the collar. With the scabbard fastened to his chest he through the jacket back on, and with a little fiddling the black holster fit through the slit. After even more fiddling the sword was in place.

With the windows just as impregnable as in the living room Nat had no choice but to keep on looking. The narrow hallway led to a staircase up to the first floor. The walls had panelling and the floors red carpets. Signs of struggle were everywhere, but who had fought these beasts Nat didn't know. There seemed to be no living left in the house.

A door led out to the balcony above the ballroom. The shiny dance floor below was empty as far at Nat could see. Everybody was probably banging on that pretty girl's bedroom door by now. But he wasn't alone up here. Two zombies were coming straight for him and three more were stumbling over on the other side.

The razor-sharp edge cut through the first man's head with ease. Half the scalp, with one eye still attached, slid off. The bowl shaped cranium bit cracked as it hit the marble, and the brain splashed out. Nat bent over the tumbling body to the zombie behind and thrust. The blade disappeared into the old woman's upper chest, and Nat parted her from that spot and up.

Before the other three could reach him Nat had found an open door. It was another waiting room, or living room, or whatever all these rooms were. This one had had several bookshelves standing up against one of the walls. Now it had several broken pieces of bookshelf-shaped plank lying all over the floor, along with the shredded books. The furniture seemed to have witnessed up close one of Wolverine's particularly bad days. He wiped the blade off on a dying cushion and fiddled the sword back in its scabbard.

There were two doors leading out, and Nat picked one by random. He opened it, thinking that he had gotten fairly used to the whole situation, and that he was fairly well tooled for the task ahead, then instantaneously he was proven wrong on both accounts. What hung upside-down in the sealing added itself to the list of Nat's first timers this evening. That list was getting long and complicated, but this one still managed to stand out.

It seemed to have been skinned not too long ago; naked red muscle and white tendons covered its body. Though it was bent forward, and obviously moved on all fours, it had human shape. It did not have eyes however, but its brain was as naked as the rest of it. The hands and feet (or was it paws?) had long claws and as it opened its needle infested mouth a whip like tongue shot out.

Nat slammed the door shut and felt just as much as heard that massive tongue hit and splinter the panelling. There was nothing in here solid enough to block the door, so he ran across the room and through the door he hadn't chosen. Right behind him the door broke.

Another miniature library. This one had a still standing bookshelf and Nat yanked it over. He shoved it in front of the door and bolted out the door to his left. On the balcony again, as something soft, yet very hard smashed though a door and into a bookshelf.

The three zombies had gotten all the way over, but Nat wasn't going to waste time with them. He just ran. Down a corridor he hadn't been before and down a set of wide steps. Something made of wood, and not meant to be opened that way, was crushed behind him, and what sounded like naked feet in desperate need of a manicure galloped after him.

Within minutes he was back in the dancehall. Unsure for only a second he continued for a set of doors he hadn't tried yet. The large wooden double doors swung open and Nat wondered if he should try to block them. If he had the time. He saw a large turned-over table at the other end, but it seemed heavy. Then he realized that he was looking at the front door. He darted over to it and began to push the table away.

The beast was on the dance floor. Nat heard the tittering of large claws against the marble. The table wouldn't move. He saw that a solid list had been nailed to the floor, and that was why the table didn't just slide down. Nat tried tilting it up instead, to free the door enough to squeeze out.

As the licker burst trough the double doors Nat had gotten the table up and the door too. He watched the skinned beast throw itself into a run, the four legs; he knew they were all legs now, going like crazy, like some salamander on speed. Tail in the wrong end, of course.

As the tongue whipped just over his head he fell out, landing hard on the stone porch and hearing the table slam back into place. But that wasn't going to stop the licker. Its massive body and claws started working vigorously with the hard wood. Nat ran as fast as he was on his feet, heading for the Dodge.

Too soon the door splintered and cracked. It had gotten a lot darker since last Nat was outside, and the only thing he could see of the car was the two red rear lights and the one blinking headlight.

The distance felt like a runway, although it couldn't be much more than 120 – 140 yards. As he ran he pulled up the gun, released the magazine and let it drop. He almost collided with the undercarriage before he began to climb. The bag was still on the door, and it was open. He jerked out the other gun and threw himself around. The beast was nowhere to be seen.

Nat panicked. He swirled around, pointing the gun every witch way. Only by forcing himself to sit still did he manage to regain control. He was in the bag and out again in seconds, with a fresh clip, and loaded the first gun. Then he jumped down and started away from the car. He kept turning around, and then he saw the cars blinking lights reflecting in something slippery easing up the side of the road.

Almost overcome with adrenaline, pumping in his head and making it feel as though it was packed in cotton, he held out both guns, following the creature, but not having a clue if he would be able to hit on any distance. The beast had seen him, and in an action so impulsive and aggressive Nat couldn't believe it was human it threw itself into a sprint.

Muzzles started spitting sparks, smoke and copper jacketed lead. The recoil hammered Nat's shoulders and wrists. Every time a round fired the world was lit up for a split second, and every time the licker was a little closer, frozen in its many catlike poses. And to Nat it didn't seem like a single shot hit home.

And too early the guns ran empty. The slides locked in their backmost position, and the licker was three steps away from sinking it's many thin, sharp teeth into Nat's throat. The kid dropped his guns straight down. He ran his hands to the black rubber grip sticking up over the back of his head. As the beast jumped at him he went down on one knee, drew his sword and cut overhead in one motion.

The heavy body effectively threw itself on the sword. Nat felt the blade hit resistance, but also how the razor edge cut through flesh and bone with frightening, and undeniably satisfying ease. Losing its momentum the licker fell. Nat forced the blade sideways and prevented ending up underneath the ting.

The blade had split the body down to the middle of its chest. The one half lay resting unevenly on the other. Nat drew the sword from the carcass. He dug up some cloth from the pile by the platform and wiped the blade clean. After a little searching he found the guns and the ditched clip. He filled all the magazines up and took of his jacket.

After studying the holsters and the straps in the light from the dented disco ball his grandfather's Doge had been reduced to it became clear that the guns went under his arms. The two suspenders; the gun's and the sword's, didn't interfere as long as he put the gun holsters on first. The magazine holsters fit on his belt on either side of the scabbard tip.

There had to be a decent car around here somewhere. He wasn't about to walk back to Raccoon City. The garage was on the far side of the house. As he passed the entrance three zombies came for him. They had escaped through the hole the licker had made, and there were more in line.

Nat drew and fired, the golden cartridge spinning through the night air. The shot only kissed the confused man, tearing off an ear and parts of his due. Nat steadied with his left hand and put the next round right between the two dumbstruck eyes. He sent another one after the zombie behind, and hit her more or less in the same place. He laid up for the third, but stopped himself. There was really no point to this.

The garage held three cars, only one which Nat had any interest in at the moment, a dark blue -05 Ford Ranger. He found a locked metal box on the wall, which he picked with one of the Colts, and retrieved the keys. Well inside he flung the bag over at the passenger side and shut the doors. The zombies caught up with him as he refilled the clips, but there wasn't much they could do.