Popular media says your life will flash before your eyes when faced with certain death. It's an idea reiterated as often as the light at the end of the tunnel, the fading out of sound. But for Alyssa Ashcroft, only one memory stuck out in her mind. She was thirteen again, lost in the woods, alone and separated from the rest of the group. Without the slightest notion of survival training, she went two days without food or clean water. It was easily the toughest ordeal of her life prior to the outbreak. What stood out most in the memory, though, occurred when she finally discovered a campsite. She stumbled into the encampment, her throat too parched to speak, and she immediately set upon the table of food before her. Tearing into a roasted chicken, swallowing the food without chewing, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a small mirror resting by the picnic table. Her face caked with dirt and tears, eyes bloodshot from fatigue, she saw it: the hunger. That look on her face was the look of someone who would never be sated by food, not even all the food before her.
But the reflection she saw then was nothing compared to the hunger on the face of the creature lumbering deliberately towards her. Despite the darkness, she could make out the zombie's distinct features. It had once been a well-built man, a bit too muscular for her tastes, but surprisingly clean. There was no blood on him at all; no visible wounds, and nothing about his rugged jaw line suggested he had already feasted on someone's flesh. The only thing that told her he was no longer human was the paleness of his skin, and that hunger in his shrouded eyes. Oh, that inhuman hunger...Her mind idly wondered if it would have been better had she let that obese zombie from earlier finish her. At least the fat zombie would probably finish its meal quicker.
Seeing it lumber towards her, Alyssa instinctively leapt back, finding the cool linoleum of the wall against her back. The zombie was within arm's reach when she saw a blur of shadowed movement behind it. With a crash, Cindy slammed into the back of the much larger zombie, a heavy weight bar in her hands held in a crosscheck grip. As it wheeled around, the creature lost its footing on the slippery tile surface, falling onto its side. Cindy dropped one end of the steel bar, struggling to lift it over her head, when Alyssa stepped in, snatching it from her wobbly hands. The forty-pound bar might have given her trouble before, but now the reporter heaved it up easily, bringing it crashing down upon the undead at her feet. She rained blow after blow on the monster, now still, as viscous brain matter dribbled down the drain in chunks. Afterwards, the two stood there, panting.
"You okay," Cindy asked timidly, reaching out tentatively to the other shaking woman.
"I'm gonna need another shower," Alyssa said, still clutching the bar in her hands. Behind them, the door slammed open and George rushed into the room with a bloodied club of his own at the ready.
"Dear God," he said, averting his eyes. Cindy couldn't help but agree with his surprise, looking down at the gory mess that remained. But then she realized Alyssa was still standing there, stark naked with bloody brain matter peppered across creamy skin.
"Um, we better get you cleaned up," suggested Cindy.
"Is uh, everything else okay," asked George, with his back now turned completely once he was certain it was safe for the two.
"I think Alyssa might be in shock," she said, trying unsuccessfully to pry the bar from her hands. Alyssa seemed completely unaware that the threat was over, but at the same time, her expression was calm and serene.
"Keep her warm then, no sudden temperature changes," George said. "I'll go find some blankets and ah, clothes."
The door swung open again, and George had his club poised when Yoko and Jim came rushing in.
"Good timing, you two," said the doctor, taking charge of the situation. "We're going to need blankets or something along those lines to keep her warm…" He seemed to think for a moment. "And a change of clothes," he suggested to Yoko.
"Is she okay," asked Yoko, brushing past him.
"Yeah, what'd I miss," Jim asked, also trying to step past George, who stopped him, shaking his head.
"She's fine, but she needs those supplies. We'll all get cleaned up once she's been taken care of," he ordered. Jim's curious eyes showed a bit of resistance for a moment before relenting.
"Sure thing, doc," he said, an unfamiliar emotion creeping into his voice. It was strange, George thought, but that was almost happiness he'd heard in the younger man's voice.
--
"Make sure it's warm, he said," reminded Cindy, rubbing the thin towel against Alyssa's shoulders as Yoko checked the temperature of the shower.
"It's good," said the young girl. "Bring her over."
"Alyssa, come this way," Cindy urged gently. But the reporter stood still, staring down at the corpse and clutching her heavy weapon. "It's ok, honey, you're with friends now," she added to no avail.
"Enough of this," said Yoko suddenly. She cupped her hands under the showerhead, filling them with water, and threw the warm water in Alyssa's stoic face. Her eyes blinked once, but still didn't seem to register. Pulling her hand back, Yoko abruptly slapped Alyssa across the face, the crack of her palm on the woman's cheek echoing in the small room.
"Yoko," cried Cindy, shocked by the girl's actions. But the girl paid her no heed.
"It's what she'd want us to do," shrugged Yoko, and surely enough, Alyssa's eyes cleared and she returned to herself.
"Oh…I must've…lost track of…everything," she said slowly, rubbing her eyes as if she had woken from a long sleep. The weight bar clattered to the floor as Cindy led her to the shower.
"I think we're good here, Yoko," said Cindy. "Why don't you help George and Jim find those things we need?" The young girl nodded before leaving, heading towards Alyssa's locker to bring the clothes she had uncovered earlier before getting sidetracked. Cindy cast a worried look at the girl as she exited; she had changed. They had all changed, of course, but something of Alyssa's had rubbed off on her. A sort of…toughness. Taking a guard position by the door, Cindy wondered if a part of Alyssa's strength might rub off on her as well.
--
"Daaayum, alllll nude," asked Jim for the fourth time.
"Yes Jim, but it wasn't like that," replied George.
"Man, I don't care what you say; a half naked, partly naked, and especially an all naked woman is a damned sexy thang."
"Jesus man, she was in shock! It was like…like…" His mind wandered to exactly where he hadn't wanted it to, back to his first year of residency in the ER.
She had stumbled through the glass doors, mascara black tears caking her youthful face. Her lip was bloodied, but she still couldn't help but bite down on it, a nervous and fearful energy permeating her every timid step. One of the older orderlies sighed, familiar with the sight. He gently placed a white robe on her shivering shoulders, her hands vainly holding together tattered clothes. The girl was beautiful, no doubt one of the most beautiful George had ever seen in his young life, and yet he couldn't see past the heavy sadness she would be burdened with for the rest of her life. All that suffering and pain for one night of heavy drinking at a fraternity party. One of the other young resident doctors leapt at the chance to help such a lovely young woman, and George couldn't help but feel disgust at his friend's attitude. Still, he couldn't resist his own curiosity, and so he eavesdropped on her horrifying but familiar tale from the hallway.
He found the frat house door unlocked and half open as he stepped into the main foyer. Empty cups and cans littered the floor in puddles of stale booze, a few passed-out students snoozing drunkenly on couches. He went to each, turning more than one over onto his side, making sure they wouldn't choke on their own vomit. After he was certain they weren't in any danger, he crept up the stairs quietly. The room of the brother he sought was at the end of the hall. This door, however, was locked. Turning the handle, he shoved his shoulder heavily into the frame, cracking it enough to swing open. The noise had awoken the room's only occupant, a tall and lanky student barely out of his teens.
He leapt from his bed, but realized he had nowhere to run. Raising his hands in protest, he was halfway through his defense when George deftly rammed a fist squarely into his belly. Fighting for air, the boy keeled over when George slammed his knee into his gasping face. Digging his knees into the fallen kid's chest, the young doctor continued to pummel the boy's face with heavy fists. It was only after both his fists were dripping blood that George realized the boy was long unconscious. He rose in a daze, but still had the presence of mind to check his pulse to make sure he was alive, and left. None of the other brother's realized he had even been there; they were all too drunk to remember.
Seventeen years later, George could still recall every detail of that morning, the hollow sound his fists made on the boy's flesh, the distraught look in his own eyes as he washed the blood from his hands. George transferred the next week to another hospital, but he had kept tabs on the two students. The fraternity brother had become a lawyer, and worked for his father's lucrative practice on the west coast. The young woman dated, and later married, the doctor that had tended to her that fateful morning, and the couple had raised three healthy, happy children. The last he had heard from his doctor friend, they were driving through Raccoon City on their way to a vacation on the Great Lakes…
"…up right and perky, or those hanging droopy ones," Jim's half question brought him out of the memory.
"I don't know," George mumbled.
"Come on man, how you gonna lay it out for me like that? It's all in the details, baby."
"It was dark, Jim, and she was covered in blood! What do you want to hear," he yelled forcefully, surprised by his own anger.
"Oh…didn't realize there was blood involved, man," Jim said weakly, shrinking away.
"I'm sorry, Jim, it's just that…that you don't even seem to care about the situation we're in sometimes," George apologized.
"Better than crying and screaming like all dem dead folk," Jim muttered. His eyes turned serious, and George finally understood what Cindy had meant when she had talked to him about Jim. No matter what face he put on, it was just that: a mask. Not the person they knew they could count on. George patted him on the shoulder and they continued walking in silence.
--
The glow in the locker room was almost festive with the three women in such high spirits. Despite any age differences and the situation surrounding them, it was like three young girls in any school locker room. Yoko had unearthed a bag of clothes, and the three were trying on various outfits to replace the grimy, sweat soaked clothes on their backs.
Alyssa especially was riding her own cloud nine. Any expectation of her adrenaline rush wearing off was pushed back, her infectious vivaciousness taking over the trio. She had dug up an old track outfit that she had worn a year earlier for the city marathon, and had been hoping to use again. The faded number was still pinned to the front, and Cindy giggled when Alyssa completed the outfit by donning a pair of dark shades.
"Sunglasses at night? That is so Corey Hart," she laughed.
"Eighties music, Cindy? I wouldn't have thought you were old enough to remember the good stuff," said Alyssa with a smirk.
"What can I say, I'm extremely sophistimicated for my age," snickered Cindy.
The two women broke into raucous laughter, but Yoko's mind was somewhere else. Cindy's words were echoing through her memories, the thought of sunglasses at night echoing some long distant conversation she'd once overheard.
"I can't decide between this and my karate outfit," said Alyssa, holding the white tunic in front of her.
"Never wear white after Labor Day," reminded Cindy grimly. "If there's one thing that must stay sane in this insane world, it's the laws of fashion."
"We will respect the laws of fashion," concurred Alyssa gravely. "What about you, Cindy, you gonna keep with the waitress ensemble, or what? I bet some of my clothes would fit you…the ass region might be a little tight, though."
"I dunno, the whole 'shoulder pad' look went out with Corey Hart," shot back Cindy. Seeing Alyssa laugh, Cindy wondered when things between the two of them had changed exactly. Was Alyssa just happy to be alive? Best not to think about it, she decided, letting herself enjoy the fleeting moment.
"Yeah, sorry Yoko, but I don't have anything in children's size," joked Alyssa, poking the young girl in the side.
"Albert," she muttered reflexively, her mind caught wandering. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," she added sheepishly.
"Albert? As in Fat Albert," asked Alyssa. "Watch yourself, kiddo," she said with a chuckle and another playful poke. But no matter her demeanor, Alyssa carefully observed Yoko, wondering what was going on in her head.
"How about this," said Cindy from behind them, pulling a bag from a nearby locker. "There's some gym clothes in here that might fit you, Yoko."
"Is it really a good idea to wear clothes that expose our flesh like this," asked Yoko, holding up the small outfit.
"Worried about attracting the wrong kind of attention," Alyssa asked slyly. "I'm sure Jim would love it…"
"What's that," asked Cindy, looking back and forth between the two. She loved any chance to gossip.
"Will you drop that," sighed Yoko. "There's nothing between us."
--
"Man, can you believe that shit," whined Jim. "Here we are, sweeping up dead bodies, while they get their own slumber party with pillow fights and shit."
"They're counting on us, Jim," said George, pointing to a locker. "And they don't have your or my stamina."
"Yeah, that's true," nodded Jim, grinning at George's unintentional praise. He couldn't remember the last time someone had said anything positive about his stamina. Hell, he was half out of breath after that flight of stairs.
George signaled to Jim as he reached for the locker's handle, pulling it open with a flourish. A dark shape fell out, and as Jim began to pummel it with his club, George pulled him back.
"Don't hold me back, doc! I'm a machine, a monster," he yelled, swinging blindly. Ducking under one of his wild swings, George grabbed his wrist, halting the flurry.
"It's just a bag of clothes, Jim," he said. Opening his eyes, Jim saw two large bags of clothes, now spilled across the floor, and he scoffed.
"They damn lucky they just clothes," he said, setting his weapon aside and grabbing the bags.
"Good thinking. We might find something of use in there," said George. "Maybe we can make some bandages or item holsters."
"You mean, maybe the girls can find something fashionable to wear?"
"What? Why would they care about something like that at a time like this?"
"Man, you might be a doctor and smart as shit, but when it comes to the ladies, you're dumber than me doc," said Jim with a sigh. "No matter the situation, no matter the danger, bitches will always want to try on new clothes."
--
"These are all men's clothes," groaned Alyssa. "Way too big for us…"
"And they smell like men's clothes," echoed Cindy. "Dirty men's clothes."
George and Jim exchanged a glance, both somehow knowing that this would happen.
"This isn't a fashion show ladies," said George. "Perhaps when you're bleeding to death you'll only want to use designer name bandages as well?"
"We've found our own clothes, thank you very much," replied Alyssa. "I'm fine in this running suit," she added, zipping up the front. She had been worried that the swishy material would generate too much noise, but the extra protection was worth it. Covered in that sleek material, she would be one slippery fish to grab a hold of.
"These fit me well too, wouldn't you say," asked Cindy, doing a slight pirouette in her pastel blue long sleeved shirt and long white jeans.
"You know you look great, Cindy," said Alyssa, surprising the men. Since when they such good friends?
"Are you…ok Alyssa," George asked, wondering if she had been hit on the head. Maybe the shock from earlier had done something to her?
"Where's Yoko," asked Jim, pulling a set of basketball clothes from the bag. "Haha! Sweet!"
"She said she found something earlier upstairs and wanted to check it out," replied Cindy, but Jim was too busy admiring the red mesh jersey to hear her answer.
"You let her go alone," George asked, shocked by their casual demeanor.
"Well, you two scoured the area up there already, right," said Alyssa. "Besides, she took a shotgun with her, and she had also checked it herself already, found it empty."
"How long ago?"
"A couple minutes," answered Cindy. "I'm surprised you didn't bump into her on the way here…"
"I'll go check on her," offered Jim, taking up his flashlight and heading for the door. Alyssa arched an eyebrow at his offer, shooting a glance at Cindy, who also took note of his uncharacteristic concern.
"Cindy, where did you get those clothes," asked George. "Those aren't the type of clothes a person would leave in their locker…"
"What do you mean, George?"
"People who come to the gym don't leave their regular street clothes behind in the locker, do they?"
"No, they don't," said Alyssa. "But it's not like we haven't encountered any undead in here, right?"
"Yes, but they were all male," replied George. "None of them would fit into those clothes…"
"Meaning…" began Cindy, slightly confused.
"There's someone else in here," finished Alyssa.
Note: So sorry for the long delay, but I hope you find these next few chapters to make up for it. This one is a bit slow, but I really needed an excuse to get the 'old feel' back for the characters. I hope changing their clothes will spark some fresh ideas and perspective. I'd reread the old one, and I didn't like the direction it was taking, focusing on different things than I had first intended. Circumstance was getting in the way of the character interaction; I've since decided to let the characters propel the action, not so much where/when zombies pop up. Of course they'll still show up to throw a monkey wrench into the best laid plans, but I'm going to try and tone it down.
One other thing I've decided to change is Jim's speech patterns. I like him being vulgar and honest, but the street slang is going to be severely reduced. So he'll still drop swears every other sentence, but he won't be talking like a wannabe rapper street thug anymore. In fact, I hope he's going to demonstrate a lot more of his character quirks in the coming chapters and not be such a stereotypical caricature.