The Tenements

She woke with a start; sunlight poured into the room through the jagged slits of a hastily boarded window. For a moment, she thought she was at home again, in the comfort of her old soft bed, and that she had forgotten to close the blinds again. But as her eyes slowly regained their focus, Cindy Lennox realized she was still there, still in the wreck that was Raccoon City. And that damned outbreak…it wasn't a dream, or a nightmare. It was real.

The stained mattress beneath her reeked of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke. She had worked for years in a bar, but had never had the misfortune of smelling such a pungent odor first thing in the morning. Her nose reflexively scrunched, and she was fully awake. She looked around the room; it appeared to be a tenement building of some sort, probably just outside of downtown. Chips of plaster, half empty liquor bottles (she hoped it was liquor, but what vagrants ever left half full bottles of booze?), and crushed cigarette filters lined the floor. Spray paint covered most of the walls in illegible scrawl, but most of that had been chipped away too.

She turned her attention to the door. It was propped close with a short shelf of some sort, and a chair. In the chair sat the man she had only met two days ago. He had come into the bar occasionally. He usually kept to himself, and was an excellent tipper. His dark smile drove most of the female patrons wild, and even some of the male ones. Still, he seemed most comfortable with his own space. She was careful not to intrude too much upon him on the rare occasions he came in; but she couldn't resist looking at him several times a shift. He was handsome, alright, in a brooding, intellectual way. His eyes seemed to focus when he was thinking, and they seemed to shine with a brilliance she had never seen in a man before. His dark hair seemed always to be perfectly parted, and he seemed the type never to comb it or even run his hands through it.

"Ah, you're awake. Good," George said, not taking his eyes off his project. His shirt sleeves were rolled up around his elbows, and he seemed quite intent on whatever it was he was doing.
"What are you doing?" she asked, rising from the dirty mattress. A gray jacket lay atop her. She realized it was George's, and she felt a rush of intimacy before handing it to him. He didn't seem to notice; just nodded his head and casually slipped into the sleeves as if he were leaving the house for work.

He had lined several bottles along the top of the shelf. Each had varying amounts of strange liquids in them. George carefully measured another, before pouring it into a container already filled with a grayish substance.

"Consolidating our resources," he answered, "we need to travel lightly."

"But what are those?" she said, the curiosity gnawing at her.

"These two are a mix of-" he started, when the door suddenly jolted. The force of the impact stuttered the shelf, and the bottles spilled across the creaky floor.

"What the--?" he cried, reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his pants.

"Hey guys, whatcha doing?" said Jim, his head sticking through the door, a goofy grin on his face.

"Dammit, Jim…!" George began, before calming himself.

"Jim, is everyone else ready to go?" asked Cindy, quickly easing the situation.

"Mornin', Cindy…yep, I think so! Mark says this place isn't safe," answered Jim, as George pulled the shelf aside. "What was with the barricade, doc?" he asked, winking.

"I thought it best to have it ready, just in case," George replied slowly, his anger now gone. He looked at the spilled liquids with a bit of regret. But it was soon gone.

Cindy collected the rest of her things; her medicine case and the small satchel full of herbs she had been able to collect. To her surprise, the satchel was much lighter than last night.

"I hope you don't mind, but I mixed those for you," said George, noting the surprise on her face. "I figured they'd be lighter and more accessible…I left your case alone though," he added, a sheepish grin on her face. He took her hand and guided her down the broken staircase.

---

"Are we sure we want to move this soon?" asked the young girl who sat in the corner, her eyes never leaving the window and the desolate street below. "This place is dirty, but at least it's quiet…and safe," she spoke, a slight tinge of fear in her voice.

If Cindy hadn't seen her in action the night before, she might have worried about her. This girl was young, but tougher than she had ever been. More than that, she was smart and level-headed, calm and collected. One of the creatures had grabbed at Mark through a shattered window, and before anyone else could react, she had quickly drew her pocket folding knife and stabbed it's grimy hands, freeing him. Mark, a bit shaken up, credited her with saving his life, saying that he could actually feel the creature's fetid breath on the skin of his neck. She only smiled her tight, controlled smile. Like she had aced a test everyone else in the class had failed, as if she knew all along that's what would happen.

"That's true, Yoko, but this place is a deathtrap as well," Mark replied, his deep voice reverberating through the room. His mind seemed to wander for a moment, and Cindy wondered if he was thinking of Bob again, his friend who had transformed right before their eyes, his friend whom he had to kill with his own hands to save the rest of them. "We have nowhere to retreat in this building, and with the fires out there…I'm afraid we have to keep moving," he finished.

"I agree," said George, everyone turning to him as he spoke. "Our goal was to reach higher ground, but our footing here isn't solid enough. There are better places in the city," he said, as everyone seemed to almost nod in agreement. He flashed Cindy a quick, secret smile, and she couldn't help but return it. She suddenly thought of something.

"What about the other survivors?" asked Cindy, the ever present note of concern in her voice. No one seemed to look at her in response. In fact, it seemed they deliberately kept their eyes from hers. "They might still be out there…they could need our help!" she said, her voice quaking with sudden emotion.

"They did what they needed to do," answered Mark, finally, a hint of regret in his voice.

"Right on, bro," piped in Jim. "I'm not risking my neck for some gung ho shitheads who think this is a game or something!"

"But-" Cindy began. She stopped, though, when she felt a warm, strong hand on her shoulder. She turned her pleading eyes to George, who could only bow his head and close his eyes. He shook his head sideways, in one slow, reluctant motion.

"There's nothing we can do for them," he said, resignation in his voice. Cindy closed her eyes and fought back the tears. For the moment, her eyes remained dry; but she knew, deep in her heart, more of them would be lost and the tears would not stop then.

---

Cindy was able to find a patch of herbs on the 5th floor rooftop of the tenement building. Not too many, but enough to fill a few spaces in her carrying case. As she sat, staring across the cityscape, burning and nearly in ruins, she felt the urge to just end it and jump off the roof at that very instant. It was strange, how easily one thought of suicide, and how it took something so small and simple to pull you back to your senses. For Cindy Lennox, on that particular day, it was the way the sunlight bounced off the white-ridged mountaintops in the distance, the pale horizon seemingly infinite. A world this beautiful was worth fighting for; another moment like this could come along. No, it would come along, and maybe she'd have someone to share it with.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice from behind her spoke. Startled, she turned to see George by the stairs, an appreciative look on his face, his eyes squinting against the sun.

"Yes, I was quite taken with it…it reminded me of something," she said, her voice trailing off before turning back to the view. He was kind, but her disappointment in him remained from earlier.

"Hmm…a painting perhaps?" he asked, sitting down beside her.

"Why, yes…how did you know that?" she said, astonished. She was so surprised she turned to face him again, and found him grinning at her.

"Heh, it's the painting used in the city's travel brochure, and a piece in my collection."

"An art collector, huh? I once wanted to be an artist," she said, her eyes staring faraway into the sun now over the horizon.

"Really? I guess that explains all those 'herbs' you carry," George said, his voice deadpan. Cindy looked at him a moment, shocked, until she saw that glimmer in his dark eyes.

"Hey!" she yelled, shoving him away, "That's not funny; maybe I won't give you anymore to make your pills…or does that make you a pill popper?" she cried out, laughing. It felt good to laugh that morning, at that moment. It could've been any other day, any other place in the world where a young woman and man could share something beautiful. Or just a good laugh. It felt…normal.

Her giddiness over the moment soon wore off; her thoughts constantly crept back to the first hours of the outbreak. Everyone was screaming, yelling, crying…it was like a warped record, playing over and over in her head, but the music never right. Besides their group now, there were five others that had been with them. Five others…

Kevin had taken charge right away; he barricaded the bar entrance and began to calm everyone down, even issuing orders. But in the back of Cindy's mind, despite having a police officer in the situation, it was Kevin. Kevin, who had come in nearly everyday and drank himself into oblivion. Kevin, who on one particular night, waved his gun in the face of another patron after losing a game of darts (although Cindy suspected it having to do with his third consecutive failure of the STARS exam). Kevin, who on the night of the outbreak, had finished four beers and a fifth of scotch before drunkenly groping at Cindy (yet again). Kevin, who only minutes later, threw up after seeing the first monster up close. The monster was dead, and they were all safe, but still, Cindy was terrified. Kevin had burst out laughing, and even kicked the dead creature in the head. Cindy wondered if this was a dream come true for him; he got to shoot anything that moved, after all.

David was a quiet man, much like George, and also darkly handsome. He was a real macho type too; a working class guy with calluses on his hands and oil grease under his nails. He refused to have anything to do with the group, and disappeared on his own without saying a word about it. Jim had jokingly compared him to a ninja, the way he crept off on them in the darkness.

Will was bartender that night. It seemed like fate had it in for poor Will; he had switched shifts with Jeff earlier that day because he had heard Cindy was working. He'd had a crush on her from his very first day, and from then on, he had dedicated his every waking moment to making Cindy's life easier. It was flattering, but also sad in a way. Cindy knew in her heart that other women had made Will feel this way, and had used it to their advantage. He, in turn, thought that was his only way to impress a young woman. He was so kind, and giving. In the end, it was his concern over others that got him killed. He approached that first…that first thing, and it bit through his neck in one swift motion, turning him into one of them in only a few minutes. Kevin had put him down with his gun, but had needed four shots to do so with all the booze in his system. This was just before vomiting, though, so his aim naturally improved afterwards. As marginally good as that was.

Bob was one of Mark's coworkers, and his best friend. They had served in the war years earlier, and Bob had gotten Mark a night job at the security firm. Their wives were in a bridge club together, and their kids played with one another on Saturday afternoons. As such, it was only fitting that Mark end Bob's life once he transformed. Cindy worried about Mark; he was strong and reliable, but she couldn't help but feel a tangible sadness emanating from him.

Alyssa was an ambitious reporter always out for the next big scoop. She was a no nonsense kind of woman: aggressive, assertive, and angry. The few times Cindy had spoken to her, Alyssa had acted as if the world owed her something. Cindy felt, though, that it was all a mask. Alyssa was scared inside, and her tough face kept doubters out of her way. Cindy imagined it was a tough field, where there were so many more men. Alyssa once confided in her, though, that this was to her advantage. "I don't have to worry about my balls getting busted; I can do all the busting my way. Remember that, Cindy," she had said to her, her voice slightly slurred from her third Cosmopolitan. Alyssa had disappeared with Kevin; she said she trusted a "real cop's" instincts over a "fat security guard's". Mark's face fell a bit at that, but he soon regained his composure.

None of them had been seen since, nearly 30 hours earlier. The city had begun its fall.

---

They rejoined the rest of the group downstairs, as they were finishing their preparations. Jim had drawn a crude map of the city on a dirty wall. Cindy had to admit she was quite impressed; his knowledge as a subway worker would come in handy. Before she could praise his usefulness, George spoke up from beside her.

"Jim, is there any safe passage through the subway tunnels?" he asked, a bit of hope in his voice as he stepped away from Cindy's side.

"Doubtful. We've seen that animals also mutate, not just humans," he answered. Cindy was once again impressed by his intelligence. George hadn't even considered that possibility, and he was a well-educated doctor. "I don't know about you, but I don't wanna get fuckin' eaten by a giant zombie rat…or worse…alligators," he said, ruining the moment as only he could.

"That's just an urban legend, Jim," said Yoko, her eyes never leaving his map.

"Hey, you don't know! A friend of mine told me-" he began, his voice getting excited.

"We can't waste time over this!" commanded Mark, slamming his fist into the table. Jim seemed to shrink back in fear, and everyone regained their focus. "We're moving out within the hour, so everybody be packed up and ready to go. No one's getting left behind," he said, his sad eyes meeting Cindy's.

It was funny; all her life Cindy had spent her days accumulating possessions. Shopping at the malls after her long shifts, or getting presents from admirers…it had given her a sort of purpose, to collect these things. Somehow, due to this outbreak, she had realized it had really all been for nothing. When she had to run for her life, those possessions she had spent years collecting and the apartment she had so meticulously decorated really didn't amount to much; only wasted time. She thought of this as she finished packing the last of her items: her full herb case, a first aid spray can, a first aid kit half full of bandages and gauze, a can of bug spray, and the small handgun that had been stashed away under the bar (with only 5 remaining bullets).

George, on the other hand, stacked his last bottle of grayish chemical into his satchel after carefully wrapping it in newspaper. The bag was brimming, ready to burst, but he didn't seem to notice as he threw the strap over his shoulder.

"Is that safe?" she asked.

"Huh? Oh yeah…that," he replied, obviously not thinking clearly. "Sure, I'll be able to mix them once we reach another safe point. Then they'll be dangerous," he said, his dark eyes glowing. "But not for us…for them."

Cindy couldn't help but giggle at that; this darkly handsome man in a well-cut suit, talking about killing zombies. George gave her a puzzled look.

"Forget about it; I'll tell you later," she said, stifling her giggles.

As she stepped out into the main foyer, Yoko came down the stairs from the rooftop, a thoughtful expression on her face. She didn't seem to notice Cindy standing only a few feet from her as she slung her filled backpack over her thin shoulders. Cindy couldn't help but wonder if she would topple over, the bag looked so full.

"What is it, Yoko?" asked Cindy.

"Those creatures; they don't seem to respond with vision. I stood out in clear daylight to see what would happen, and they didn't even notice me," she said, her brow furrowed.

"You did WHAT?" yelled Mark, grabbing her arm and turning her around. "You could get us all killed with a stunt like that!" he screamed, his voice rattling off the walls.

"Well…I did observe that they actually respond to smells, but especially…to sound," she said, her face cringing.

As if on cue, a loud crash sounded from downstairs. The barricade had fallen, and the zombies were pouring in, their moans audible through the creaky floor.

"Oh my god…we're trapped," cried Cindy, despair taking over her voice.

---

A short burst of gunshots snapped from below them. The four of them froze for a moment before heading up and away, toward the rear of the building. George told them to go ahead, and didn't even seem to notice the concerned look on Cindy's face.

"But why…?" she began.

"Jim's down there alone; I have to help him," he said, determined. "Go ahead, we'll catch up." He didn't even look back. Cindy wondered if this would be the last time she saw him. Somewhere in her heart, she wished that wouldn't be the case. The feeling surprised her.

"Right," said Mark, as he began to move back, his combat shotgun in hand. Yoko stayed close to him, her eyes constantly on the look out for blind spots and surprise attacks. Mark smiled at her. "I'm sorry about yelling at you Yoko…looks like this is all my fault after all," he said, his face reddening. Cindy got the feeling he wasn't used to apologizing to young girls.

"I'm sorry, too Mark," said Yoko. "I can't help but be inquisitive."

"Your observations will be of good use later on," said Cindy, joining them. Yoko gave her a surprised look, as if she thought Cindy wouldn't have been there with them. "Let's go."

Mark gave Cindy a second glance, as if her sudden determination were a surprise. It was a look a captain gave to a wet eared soldier when he finally proved himself ready for real combat. But the moment was soon gone, and they began to move.

---

Despite his bullets tearing soundly into their flesh, the zombies barely seemed to notice Jim as they stumbled over the fallen barricade. George bounded down the stairs to see Jim there, calmly firing his handgun into the face of a zombie that had previously been a bus driver of some sort. Jim looked over at George and grinned.

"I hate the fuckin' bus," he said. "Way too slow for me."

"Well then, let's get moving, Jim!" yelled George. "Come on!" It seemed pointless to him to waste their precious ammo on a few slow zombies, but somehow Jim always seemed to have more than enough to go around. Jim fired off three more shots before heading to the stairs. Surprisingly, all three shots were dead center, one even splitting open a zombie headapart like a ripened watermelon. The three zombies Jim hit all fell backwards onto other zombies, buying them valuable time.

"Sure thang, pardner," Jim said, blowing away the smoke from the gun muzzle.

As they ran up the shaky stairs, one zombie pushed its way ahead of the others, and with a short burst of incredible speed, covered the distance to the stairs in only a few steps. Jim somehow felt the incoming zombie, and turned to fire a couple of shots squarely into its chest. However, the zombie didn't even seem to flinch as it lumbered forward, intent on Jim. Seeing this, George took a quick scan of the area at the top of the stairs. An old rusty stove sat along the far side of the stairwell, and there was a space in the railing. He raced over to it, yelling at Jim to move, and threw his weightagainst the metallic casing. With a shaky groan, the stove finally cooperated with his efforts and began to move, scraping and screeching along the floor. The zombie had reached Jim, and it gripped his right leg in its bloodied hands. Jim, face down on the stairs, struggled to plant himself to kick it away. He looked up to see the stove teetering on the edge right above the stairs below, and the sudden desperation gave himenoughincentive to desperatelytwist his body over andkick off the drooling zombie. He backpedaled up the musty stairs, his limbs flailing about. At the moment Jim cleared the lower stairs, George lowered his body into a powerful crouch and summoned all of his strength into one final push, throwing his shoulder into the stove and sending the heavy, non-functioning appliance careening over the edge.

Jim, as he came up the stairs, was able to see the still surging zombie out of the corner of his eye, its outstretched hand actually grasping the banister at the bottom of the stairs to charge up at him. Sudden, desperate panic overtook him, and he stumbled on thethird to last step. In another moment it would be upon him, but just then a large shape came crashing down upon the zombie. The zombie had been walking straight upright, its back almost tilting backwards, so when the massive object landed on it, the zombie's upper body actually folded back on its own legs before being crushed completely. The lower stairs were also completely obliterated, and Jim couldn't help but cry out in joy.

"Oh shiiiiiit! You da man now dawg!" yelled Jim, running over to George, who, despite rubbing his right shoulder gingerly, seemed quite pleased with himself. Jim couldn't help but pat him on the back, fighting the urge to slap him on the shoulder.

"Nice shooting, cowboy," said George, as they ran to join the others. Jim beamed.

---

Cindy couldn't help but stop and look back when she heard the loud crash. Mark and Yoko also both stopped, but she wondered if it was because they were worried over her.

"I'm sure they're fine," Mark assured her. "Those two know how to take care of themselves."

Cindy felt a bit of relief at Mark's words; he would, after all, know their fighting capabilities far better than her. Still, she couldn't help but worry. Were they too far ahead of George and Jim? How would those two know which way they had gone?

Their escape from the tenement building had been simple and uneventful. Yoko had found an old, unused laundry chute on the 4th floor, which had somehow remained sturdy and untouched. More importantly, it had broken just above the second floor, and a great amount of rubble lay beneath it. It wasn't as soft as laundry bags and pillows, but it wasn't as sharp as glass or metal. Mark slid down first, despite Yoko's desire to test it's width before he went. He assured her he was capable of breaking the flimsy aluminum lining, that his getting stuck wouldn't cause a problem.

"This ain't the water park, Yoko…I'm not afraid of breaking anything," he said, sticking his feet down into the dark chute. Cindy was glad Mark was so gung ho; the thought of sliding down a dark tunnel with no idea what waited on the other side…she remained quiet. Mark disappeared into the darkness, only the thudding of his body against the flexible metal hinting at his progress. After a few breathless moments, they heard the signal; three quick light taps on the chute, letting them know he was through and it was clear. Cindy was looking back again when Yoko spoke.

"Cindy, you go next," she said, reaching into her backpack.

"What?" she asked, turning to face her. "Why?"

Yoko was removing a can of spray paint from her backpack, and she popped off its top as she shook it.

"I'm leaving a note for Jim and George to follow us," she said, shaking the can as she began spraying an arrow pointing to the chute's open vent. Cindy nodded and neatly placed her feet into the chute, straightening her skirt and clutching her equipment. Yoko's resourcefulness continued to impress her. With the sound of the can hissing behind her, Cindy slid into the dark.

She came out on the other side to see Mark in his ready position, ducking behind a large chunk of bricks. He motioned to her to be quiet, and nodded his head towards a group of the undead across the street. They were milling about and hadn't seemed too alert about anything. Like most of her regulars before their first couple of drinks. She pushed the thought out of her head as soon as she had it; that life was long behind her. Only their survival mattered now.

---

The zombies seemed content to study the large hole before them; some even stupid enough to fall in. Jim turned to George.

"Maybe we should call the others back," he started, excitedly. "Without those stairs, there's no real way in for those fuckers," he added. George shook his head.

"I imagine they're far ahead of us by now, possibly even outside," he solemnly spoke. "I don't think holing up somewhere is our best option; there are more and more of those things by the minute," he finished, his thoughts with the others.

"Being trapped in here wouldn't be that bad," said Jim, a bit too nonchalantly. "At least we got the ladies to keep us warm, right?" he laughed, jabbing George's side with his elbow. George remembered why he didn't like Jim at that moment. That laugh, almost a sneer. The next second his voice could quiver at the slightest noise. He remembered last night that Cindy figured Jim's "attitude" to be all a front. She knew Jim better than he did, and he trusted Cindy, as well as her assessment of character. She could be a bit too nice for her own good, though. He smiled at the thought of her, and her kindness. He soon realized Jim was speaking again.

"-fense or anything buddy; I see how you two look at each other," Jim rambled. "And Jim Chapman don't never mess with another man's woman, nosirree." George realized Jim wasn't even looking at him as he spoke. "-ther one, that Asian girl? Woohee, I think she got an old hankerin' for the brothers, you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Absolutely, Jim," replied George. "We should get moving, the others might be waiting for us." With Jim still yammering in his ear, they began to move. From below them, the zombies also began to move, actually backtracking through their entry point. The two men took no notice of this as they hurried up the next flight of stairs, other thingson their minds.

---

"I don't know how much longer we can wait," whispered Mark.

Cindy had been waiting for one of the others to say it, but it still struck a blow to her heart. She forced the blood from her face and the rush of anger from her body. She knew her words might be biased, dominated by emotion, but she had to say something. Her word mattered to this group as much as anyone else's, even Mark's. Luckily, she didn't have to say anything.

"I hear something from the vent," said Yoko, from behind them. She held a nail gun in her hand, and aimed it at the torn opening of the chute. Cindy heard it now too, a soft swooshing of movement as something gray came shooting out face first into a pile of dirt.

Covered in grime and soot, George looked like he could almost pass for one of the creatures. He looked so flustered that Cindy had to stifle her laugh, but she imagined that was also part of her joy at seeing him safe and unharmed. She rushed to his side.

"I'm ok," he muttered, before she could ask. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed he was almost…embarrassed from landing face first in the soot. Before she could say something to soothe his wounded ego, they heard a loud cry from above them.

"Yippee kayay, mothafuckas!" screamed Jim as he bounced through the chute and out into the same dirt pile George had tasted just moments earlier.

"Quiet Jim," Mark whispered loudly. But it was too late; the zombies from across the street had heard the commotion, and were now lumbering over to investigate. As Cindy was helping George up, she felt something wet on her hand. Dread in her heart, she looked down at her palm. Blood. George looked at her in disbelief. The zombies were moving faster now, the smell of blood in the air. "MOVE!" yelled Mark, rising from his defensive position, firing a shotgun blast into the first group of incoming zombies, forcing them to stumble back a few steps.

"Oh my god, there are so many of them," said Yoko, her teeth clenched. It seemed as if the zombies were coming from everywhere now. The original group they had watched earlier had been about ten, but now there were at least triple that number, the undead climbing out from the rubble of the building behind them and lurching out from dark alleyways. "Where do we go?" she cried, her voice nearing desperation. She seemed reluctant to fire, and Cindy knew she was probably low on ammo. They couldn't survive a big battle, not now. There was no big bomb to save them this time.

The original plan had been to head for the hospital. George said they could pick up valuable medical supplies there, and that the sewer system underneath the hospital could be their way out of the city. Furthermore, the hospital included its own generator, so electricity wouldn't be a hassle for them like it had been in the other locations they'd tried to hole up in. That idea seemed hopeless now, as the group of zombies blocked that path. In all the mayhem and uncertainty of that moment, Jim did the most unusual thing. He pulled a coin from his side pocket and flipped it high into the air. He caught it in one swift swipe of his hand, and in the same motion, drew the handgun from his belt.

"This way," he said through clenched teeth, as he raised his pistol to take aim.

It was a moment none of them would soon forget. Each and every one of Jim's bullets seemed to magically find their target. He fired off a burst of six quick rounds, and where his bullets flew, zombies fell. He fired in a seemingly blind arc, but Mark could see each of Jim's shots were fired with the utmost precision and understanding of his gun and surroundings. Another volley of bullets, and Jim split the head of the pair of zombies that was nearly upon them. He began to move as he fired, and remarkably, his accuracy didn't suffer in the slightest. But Cindy quickly realized what the others had not; they were headed the wrong way.

She opened her mouth to speak, but felt George's hand clench her arm. She looked at him, puzzled, and he shook his head. Did he know? What could he be thinking? Then she remembered the warm blood on her hand, who it came from, and her concerns were soon elsewhere. And so she ran.

---