A/N: Hello, everybody! I know it's been a long while, so here's hoping the latest chapter didn't disappoint. I've got another chapter about ¾ complete and I'll do my best to have it up by next Sunday. Classic survival-horror is on the menu from here on out. Heh, heh. RE: Damnation has feed my muse. Also, I have some new illustrations that I'll post soon as well.

A great big THANK YOU to everyone who has taken the time to leave me such wonderful reviews over this past year. As always, your support is loved and truly appreciated! No, seriously. You guys mean the world. Knowing that so many of you enjoy this story is what keeps me coming back, even if it takes forever. Thank You for waiting so patiently! ^_^

Chapter 26: The Perfect Storm

Jill took a trembling step back, freezing instantly as broken glass crunched underfoot. The zombie raised her bloodstained face from the dead officer's throat. Her head tilted stupidly, trying to pinpoint the noise. Bits of tissue were caught between her teeth, pale eyes swimming in a film of blood. Jill's heart seized. Instantly, the nightmares rose up to engulf her: dark, moldy corridors… the raucous laughter of crows… car alarms wailing in the fiery wreck of downtown Raccoon City.

Limbs unfolding, the dead woman lurched to her feet.

Jill shrank against the wall. She was breathing too fast; she knew she was hyperventilating. Adrenalin buzzed in her brain, screaming a wordless command to flee. The zombie shambled closer. It was going to kill her, too. She had seconds at the most. We have to get back to the foyer and warn Captain Wesker.

No, wait… that can't be right.

This isn't Arklay.

The world snapped like an overextended rubber band, reality screaming back into focus as rational thought finally connected with frozen muscles. Jill's hand plunged beneath her sweater, closed on warm metal. In one motion she wrenched the revolver out of her waistband, thumbed the safety, and fired. A wet red flower blossomed on the woman's forehead. She staggered as if struck, her arms flying out to either side as she toppled to the floor. The second zombie looked up just in time to catch a second bullet that popped his head backwards.

Jill counted several seconds before she drew a breath, sweeping the area for any sign of movement. The light fixtures guttered unsteadily on the ceiling, filling the air with a low buzz. Confused by the proximity of the overturned gurneys, the automatic doors slid open, then shut, then open again as if wracked by silent laughter. Jill suddenly realized that the sirens she was hearing weren't inside her head after all. The abrupt squeal of tires jerked her attention outside just in time to see another ambulance careen into the parking lot, mount the curb, and crash violently into a streetlight. A dark shape exploded through the windshield and skidded away through the snow. Too startled to do anything, Jill could only stare.

The silence that followed was almost deafening, the ambulance siren dying to a strained warble before cutting out completely. Smoke curled from the ruined engine, the shattered headlights peering into the hospital like black eyes. Something thumped inside the back of the vehicle, pounding out a slow, demented rhythm. Jill forced her clenched hands to loosen, years of near-forgotten training reminding her how tense muscles could ruin an otherwise perfect shot. Steady… steady… Suddenly the ambulance doors burst open with enough force to make her jump. Two bodies spilled out onto the snow, EMT uniforms soaked in blood. Soft, hungry moans rose above the wailing snow.

Jill had seen enough.

Heart pounding, she took a step back, then another, and another, until she was racing back the way she'd came. Pale, shaken faces peered out at her from adjacent hallways and she shouted at them to stay put. Her calves were burning by the time she reached the elevator, but she barely noticed over the overwhelming pit forming in her gut. Wesker. He'd done this! But why? What right did he have to screw with them like this? Jill's hands rose to clutch at her hair, trembling so violently the chamber of the revolver banged against her forehead. She thought of Wesker sitting in a security office somewhere with that terrible smirk on his lips.

She should have known better than to let the man separate them again. She did know better! Jill's stomach lurched with the thought of finding Chris with a bullet lodged in his skull, or lying unconscious as the undead threw their bodies against his flimsy hospital door…

"Come on, damn you!" she screamed at the elevator.

The doors burst open with a ding and she was greeted by utter madness. People were running towards the elevators, pushing and trampling each other in their attempts to escape. Jill frantically elbowed her way through the crowd, yelling at the top of her lungs that the lobby wasn't safe, but no one heard. In the midst of all the panic someone popped her eye with an elbow, sending an explosion of stars dancing through her vision, and she gave up being chivalrous. She flattened herself to the side of the corridor where the traffic was thinner and angrily shoved her way through. How could there already be a panic on the third floor?

She reached Chris' room, crashing into an overturned wheelchair left abandoned in the middle of the corridor. With a frustrated cry she wrenched it aside and grabbed the knob. Still locked! Jill raised the butt of her revolver with the idea of smashing through the window, only to stop as gunshots suddenly ricocheted down the hall. People around her screamed and uselessly flung their arms up to protect their heads.

Startled, Jill moved to see around the corner. The door to Critical Care had formed a bottleneck as people hysterically tried to push their way through, the frantic press of bodies getting stuck against the jamb. There was another shot and the panic intensified, culminating with several people getting knocked to the floor and trampled. A security guard was frozen in place by the door, eyes wide and dark skin gone mushroom pale. Jill's skin prickled. No. No, no! They can't be up here, too!

She elbowed her way through the mob in a desperate bid to see what was going on. She didn't know what exactly tipped her off to the identity of the figure in the middle of the hall, but there was something in his stance, the tightness of his arms and shoulders, that told Jill exactly who he was. She stopped short, confused. Wesker was standing with his back to the door, legs apart as the tide of people broke around him. And he was holding a gun. Further down the hall, Jill counted three – no, four targets in hospital gowns, severed IV lines dragged from their arms. They hadn't been dead long. One of them was still dressed in the charred remnants of a police uniform, strips of gauze swinging from numerous burns.

Wesker fired into the mob, two rounds smacking wetly into the head of the closet zombie, the third going slightly wide. Several arms burst out of a nearby observation window, clawing and swinging for him, but Wesker sidestepped out of their reach. To either side of the hall, frightened patients were leaning up in their beds, too sick and injured to move or help the brave few nurses struggling to free them.

I- I have to help, thought Jill. He can't hold them off forever!

There was a yelp as a teenage boy tripped and hit the floor inches away from Wesker's feet, his smartphone hydroplaning across the tile. Snarling, the blond tyrant stooped and wrenched him up by the collar, throwing him in the direction of the door. A woman loomed behind Wesker's shoulder, her mouth crusted with blood. Jill made her decision without thinking.

"Wesker, on your six!"

Her cry had the desired effect. Wesker turned sharply, the heel of his palm colliding with the zombie's chest with a sickening crack. The result was tremendous. The nurse flew back at least twenty feet, bloody foam spraying from her mouth as she skidded along the linoleum. Jill's mouth fell open. What the hell? That couldn't have– nobody's that strong!

"Valentine, get these people clear now!" Wesker shouted.

In spite of everything, Jill was in motion even before the words had completely left his mouth, abandoning her doubt for pure muscle-memory. She seized the frozen security guard and shook him hard. "You! Get in there and help!"

The man gave her a startled look, but Jill didn't wait to see if he understood as she barreled past into the ward. She didn't bother with unhooking IV lines or heart monitors – if she didn't hurry, those things wouldn't matter anyway. In one motion she wheeled a frightened old man out of the ward, bed and all, before turning and firing past Wesker's shoulder. She caught a flurry of movement out of the corner of her eye: the security guard running past with a boy in his arms. After that everything became a blur.

"Valentine?" Wesker's gravely shout conveyed everything in an instant.

"Right side, clear!" Jill hollered, but there were still more rooms further down the hall. She moved ahead without thinking, only to come up short as Wesker threw his arm out, blocking her path. A split-second later she understood why. Dammit, where are they coming from?!

She couldn't believe the number of zombies that'd amassed at the end of the ward in just the few moments she'd been distracted. There must have been a dozen or more, all of them lurching down the hall in pursuit of warm bodies. "Fall back!" Wesker shouted, firing off another round.

"But—"

"I said fall back!"

This time Jill obeyed. What choice did she have? There were just too damn many. She took a step back, firing at the approaching horde. The first shot completely blew off the zombie's left ear, the second punching a gaping hole just above its eye. Arms flailing like a dead bird, it immediately collapsed to the floor. Jill felt something hard collide with her hip. The door! She and Wesker slipped through and immediately took up positions on either side of the jamb. They locked eyes, and Jill instantly realized what she was supposed to do.

The door was made of heavy safety glass, welded to a steel track in the floor. With only seconds to spare, Jill seized the panel and heaved it shut just as the zombies collided with the other side, their faces mere inches from hers. She backpedaled just as Wesker punched the keypad, sealing the door with a solid, pressurized thunk. A moment passed, then another. The door held.

"Yo man, help me!"

The security guard got behind a nearby couch and shoved it in front of the door while several bystanders grabbed chairs. Letting out a shaky breath, Jill stumbled back out of their way, her heartbeat struggling to return to some semblance of normality. She glanced around. There were far more people in the waiting room then she'd expected – mostly hospital staff and terrified patients peering out of their rooms all the way down the hall. Someone whimpered loudly. Jill felt like doing the same. I don't get it. Where'd the virus come from? How could it have spread so quickly? This hospital isn't a research lab… is it?

The thought was a terrible one. It wouldn't be the first time Umbrella had hid their dirty operations under the skirts of an unsuspecting public. Is Wesker behind this? He has to be. What are the chances of him just being here when this happens? Jill gave the man a look, wondering if his actions a minute ago were just part of another act. Again, it wouldn't be the first time. Jill thought about Chris and her stomach heaved, flopping against her spine. What was she supposed to do? What could she do? Her thoughts whirled drunkenly, and then it hit her – like a blow deep in the center of her belly. Claire!

"Wesker!" Jill seized hold of the man's jacket, but even she wasn't sure whether it was to shake him until his teeth rattled or to cling to something, anything, that resembled stable ground. "Claire, I– we– we have to find Claire!"

"No, we don't," said Wesker calmly.

Jill's heart faltered as a dozen unthinkable scenarios flashed though her head. "But–"

Wesker reached up and pried her hand from his jacket. His grip was unyielding and abnormally hot, his leather glove sticking to the sweaty skin of her wrist. "Claire is safe," he said quietly. "She left the premises hours ago."

His words cut through the membrane smothering Jill's brain. Her knees suddenly felt like water, and she groped behind her for the admitting counter. Was Wesker telling the truth? What did it mean if he was? He could just as easily sent Claire away, acting on some demented form of love even as he concluded the game he'd never gotten to finish – all while making it look like some terrible accident. Hysterical laughter bubbled in the back of Jill's throat. Oh, God, we're even in the hospital, too. What kind of trashy soap would this be without a trip to the hospital!

A tremor ran through Jill's limbs. The revolver in her hand felt like lead. She could shoot Wesker now and everything would be over in an instant. It would be so easy, too. She met Wesker's gaze, trying to understand, but all she could see was the darkness of his sunglasses and her own pale reflection staring back at her with haunted eyes. Down the hall, a teenage girl suddenly began to cry.

"Wh-what's going on! Someone, please tell me!"

And as though some spell had been broken, Wesker turned away.

"Everyone stay calm," he said, his manner suddenly brisk and business-like. Jill's eyes flashed to the gun he tucked under his jacket, certain that she recognized it, but of course that was impossible. After all these years, after everything he'd done… Jill shivered and lowered the hammer on her revolver, too shaken to do anything else. There had been a moment, perhaps, when she might have carried through with her impulse to shoot him, but just like that it was gone. Somebody was screaming at Wesker, begging him to save the people still trapped in Critical Care. A man grabbed the chairs piled in front of the door and tried to tear them down. The security guard immediately jumped forward to intervene.

"Chill out, man! We can't help dem people now! You wanna get everybody killed?"

Jill squeezed her eyes shut. It was just like Raccoon City all over again. Distantly she was aware of Wesker speaking, but she didn't register his words – only the inhumanly calm tone of his voice. Mr. Professional, thought Jill, trying to force down a bitter laugh. She opened her eyes again just in time to see Wesker take a Low-band handheld from the security guard. "Duty Officer, Albert Wesker," he radioed.

The radio keyed up almost instantly. "This is hospital duty officer. Go ahead."

"On my authority I am initiating a total lockdown of the premises, clearance number 1150," said Wesker.

There was a long pause. "Incident Commander, repeat your last. Over."

"Duty Officer, copy: I am ordering a Code 4 lockdown and mobilization of all security personnel," said Wesker calmly, but Jill could tell his patience was treading on thin ice. "We have experienced a Level 5 T-viral outbreak in the Critical Care ward."

"And downstairs," said Jill suddenly. "I shot two in the lobby, and there was at least another three outside. There's no telling how many could be infected by now."

Wesker's eyes blazed, both figuratively and literally. Jill frowned, confused by the hellish red light that seemed to flicker across Wesker's face. She looked around for the source. Maybe an emergency strobe? Wesker brought the radio back to his mouth. "Correction to last: the first floor is affected as well," he growled. "Can you confirm? Over."

"Negative."The voice on the radio was calm – but just barely. "I am en route to the security office and will page the lockdown order as soon as situation is confirmed."

"Do it quickly," Wesker snapped, lowering the radio. The undead continued to bang on the door, groaning and snarling. Wesker spared them a glance that almost bordered on casual. "Is there a surveillance office on this floor?" he demanded.

"Ya, man. At de end of the hall," said the security officer, his thick Jamaican accent worsened by stress. Jill looked him over. He was tall and athletic, his short hair braided into cornrows. A piercing glinted in his ear. Probably a local hire, she surmised. He had none of the cold-blooded edge she'd come to associate with Umbrella mercs.

"And besides you, how many people are armed?" Wesker pressed.

No one came forward.

"I am," Jill reminded him before she could stop herself. A cocktail of fear, adrenaline, and shame immediately rose up inside her, acid collecting in the back of her throat like fire. Was she really going to keep playing along with him like this after everything he'd done? When he was probably responsible for tonight? She bit her lip as Wesker gave her a hard look, judging her capacity for further engagement. Well I'll be damned if I just sit here with my thumb up my ass. Jill stubbornly pushed away from the counter and could have sworn she saw the man smirk.

"You," Wesker pointed at the security guard without missing a beat, "go to the surveillance office and get in contact with local dispatch – tell them exactly what's going on and request an immediate SWAT dispatch. No one is to leave the third floor until I say otherwise. Is that clear?"

"But my girlfriend works in the cafeteria!" an orderly cried, his crop of pimples standing out like the plague. "If I could just run down and get her, we could—"

"I said no one is to leave this floor," Wesker repeated coldly. "At least one of the lower levels has been compromised and right now everyone's best chance for survival is to remain here."

"You can't keep us here!" the orderly hollered.

Wesker turned a frightening glare in the young man's direction and the orderly quailed, any further arguments dying in his throat. Jill raked her hair back with one hand and took a deep breath. Everything felt surreal, like a bad horror movie stuck on loop, and she jumped as the PA system suddenly crackled to life and paged a series of tones. "Attention! A Code 4 lockdown is now in effect. I repeat: this is a Code 4 lockdown of building premises. This is not a drill. Perimeter doors are now sealed. All hospital personnel report to your designated departments and await further instructions."

There was a muted beep as several electronic keypads, mostly those leading in and out of Critical Care, switched from green to red and began to flash. Jill glanced back to where the undead continued to bang on the door, moaning and snarling. A shiver went down her spine. She wondered how long the glass would hold, unable to shake the feeling that they were sealing themselves in with the very thing they couldn't afford to be anywhere near.

Chris was dreaming about gunfire. The darkness elongated, the world smearing in murky smudges of light and color… and suddenly he was awake, breathing hard and staring at the ceiling. Where the hell was he? He listened to the annoying beep of a heart monitor for several minutes before actually realizing what it was. Oh, right. The hospital. Slowly, Chris turned his head to look at the IV drip going into his arm. His chest hurt; it felt like a large dog was sitting on his ribs.

With a groan he lifted one hand to scrub at his neck, wondering if there were bruises. He couldn't figure out how Wesker had gotten the drop on him so easily. The man had always been a capable fighter, but what good were all those hours he'd spent pumping iron do if he couldn't even get the son-of-a-bitch to move? Chris felt the fury rise in his chest like hot, broken glass. Or maybe that was just the cocktail of god-only-knew what they were pumping into his veins.

I am going to kill him.

Chris swung his legs around and placed them on the floor. The world spun for minute, then slowly righted itself. He sat there for a minute, concentrating on the tile under his feet. What the hell did that bastard do to me? He thought about the seizures, reliving the feeling of trying to hack up a lung, and imagined he could still taste the blood in his mouth. Was he the Petri dish for Wesker's newest virus? He grit his teeth as he thought about Claire, how he'd woken from his last ordeal to find her wrapped in that bastard's arms. God dammit, Claire! How could you be so stupid?

He refused to think that his sister had done this to him deliberately. Wesker had obviously twisted her, but she just wasn't that kind of person, no matter what happened. Renewing his vow to kill the man as soon as he laid eyes on him, Chris tore the IV line from his arm and stood up, wiping a few drops of blood on his pants. Now that he was more alert, he could hear a lot of commotion out in the hall. People were yelling and sobbing, barely audible over the frantic clatter of gurneys. What's going on? Has there been an accident?

The doorknob suddenly rattled as someone jammed a key into the lock. A minute later the portal flew open to admit a small team of docs pushing a bed. The old man had his eyes pinched shut, sobbing the rosary under his breath as they wheeled him into the corner and began hooking up equipment. Beyond in the hallway, more people ran past pushing more gurneys and people in wheelchairs. What struck Chris the most, however, was that all of them looked absolutely terrified.

"Sir, get back it bed. Sir!"

One of the docs reached for Chris, but he brushed the man off. He stepped out into the hallway, overwhelmed by the need to see what was going on. He thought of all the things that could whip a hospital into a frenzy: a twenty-car pileup, explosion, terrorists. None of them seemed quite right, though. These people were trained to deal with trauma, but most were totally freaking out. Chris jumped to the side as a nurse raced past with a little kid in her arms. The hallway was completely clogged with bodies and equipment. Somewhere overhead, the PA system let out a noise that was more siren than anything else.

"Attention! A Code 4 lockdown is now in effect. I repeat: this is a Code 4 lockdown of building premises. This is not a drill. Perimeter doors are now sealed. All hospital personnel report to your designated departments and await further instructions."

Suddenly terrorists didn't seem so far-fetched. Chris' first thought was of Claire, and then Jill. Had Wesker locked them in separate rooms? Dread gnawed at his gut, his imagination conjuring up all sort of bad situations. He continued to walk against the flow of bodies, slower at first, and then a little faster. Is there a fire? I don't smell any smoke…

Chris tried to call out the staff, but his only response came in the form of a frazzled nurse trying to herd him back, telling him it wasn't safe. He dodged around her. He was running now, feet slapping the linoleum as he turned the corner at the waiting room outside Critical Care – and stopped cold.

The doors to Critical Care were locked, a makeshift barricade piled in front of it, but the writhing mass of bodies on the other side came straight from his personal hell. The people – no, zombies, call them what they are – were burned and bloody, their flesh sticking to the glass as they beat their fists on the door. Chris knew what he was seeing, but he still couldn't believe it. There were no words to describe the overwhelming horror he felt as one of the nurses turned her – its face towards him, deathly pale except for the blood smeared on its mouth and hair, hot pink nails scraping the glass. Oh, God!

Chris' stomach heaved. He lurched to the side, putting his shoulder on the wall for support. Cold trickles of sweat rolled down his back, gluing his t-shirt to his skin and leaving him shivering in the air-conditioned hall. He swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and counted quickly to ten. I'm still asleep. I have to be. Those things can't be here… why would they be here? Shitshitshit.

Somewhere in all the commotion, he picked up on a man's voice – a voice he knew. Chris' head snapped up, his eyes scanning the crowd. His gaze slid over to a head of perfectly groomed blond hair and suddenly this insane nightmare made perfect sense. He couldn't believe it'd taken him this long to figure it out. The doors to Critical Care juddered dangerously.

"Everyone fall back," Wesker ordered suddenly. He pulled a cellphone out of his jacket pocket and looked at it, his lip curling in a frustrated snarl. "I'm going to the roof. The rest of you," he glanced at Jill and a sweaty-looking security officer in particular, "keep the civilians in line. Now move!"

Jill nodded obediently, fingering her revolver. Chris felt his teeth clench in rage. Claire was one thing. She didn't know Wesker like they did. She hadn't been there that night at Arklay. In the end it wasn't hard to imagine that Wesker had fooled her into worshipping him – just like he'd fooled STARS once. But Jill? Little Miss Perfect, thought Chris, seething. She can see those things on the other side of the door, and she's still kissing his ass?!

Striding away, Wesker shouldered the emergency door and disappeared into the stairwell. Chris' blood boiled at the sight of his retreating back. It was just like before. They'd left the foyer of the Spencer Estate for only a couple minutes, but it was enough time for Wesker to disappear. They'd been so sure he'd run into those things. Jill had tried to be rational, saying that they would've heard the shots, but he hadn't been convinced. Wesker could have been ambushed, dragged away. But he hadn't. He'd only wanted to separate them, to get out of their immediate line of sight…

You go check it out. I'll… secure the area.

The door to the stairwell fell shut with a heavy thunk, and it became the final straw. With an incomprehensible snarl, Chris flew across the waiting room in two strides and wrenched the revolver from Jill's hand before she had a chance to react. Weapon in hand he hurtled across the hall, banging though the stairwell door with his shoulder. He dimly heard Jill shout after him, but he ignored her. The stairwell was dimly lit and absolutely freezing, all rough concrete and flaking red paint. A flight about him, Wesker had just reached the second landing. Chris was instantly at his heels, taking the stairs two at a time.

"WESKER!"

As the man turned, Chris vaulted the last distance between them and cuffed Wesker across the jaw with enough force to snap his head to the side. Without giving him time to counter, Chris slammed the taller man against the nearby wall and wedged the revolver under his chin, index finger twitching at the trigger.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blow your goddamn brains out," Chris snarled. He jerked the hammer back with his thumb, the crisp snap of it echoing loudly in the stairwell. He fully expected Wesker to retaliate and every muscle in his body tensed, begging for any excuse to pull the trigger. For his part, however, Wesker merely glared at him, blood slowly welling out of his split lip.

"Stand down, Redfield," he said coolly.

"Stand down?" Chris echoed. "You've got a lot of fucking balls, you know that? Just what the hell do you think you're doing? This place – those fucking things runnin' around! Feel like taking a little stroll down memory lane, you sick, sadistic bastard!"

A nerve twitched on Wesker's forehead. "If you're referring to the incident downstairs, I had nothing to do with it," he said, stone-faced expression unwavering. "I assure you, however, it won't be long before I get to the bottom of things."

Chris couldn't believe the man's nerve. Spitting an unintelligible curse, he pushed the gun deeper into the underside of Wesker's chin, forcing his head back. "Bullshit," he snarled. "If it's me you want, why not just kill me? Why drag all these people into it?" His voice trembled with barely contained rage. He knew he was rambling, but he didn't care. "Why do you have to make it into a game?! Don't you have enough fucking combat data?"

Wesker stiffened considerably at the accusation, but if Chris noticed, it was only as a prelude to an attack. He shoved his arm into Wesker's throat. "Where's my sister, you evil son-of-a-bitch? Tell me where you've got her locked up right now, before I blow a hole in your skull!"

"Safe," said Wesker.

Chris let out a snarl. "WHERE?!" he roared.

Wesker glared at him. A thin rivulet of blood had followed the curvature of his jaw and threatened to drip from his chin. "She left over two hours ago, right after your charming little outburst. I believe she said something about "packing a suitcase" for you." His lip curled, his opinion on the matter clear.

Chris stared at him, his heart pounding in time with his whirling thoughts. It never crossed his mind that Wesker was lying. Of course he'd want to keep Claire nice and obedient, and killing a half a dozen people in a viral outbreak would be extremely counterproductive to that goal. "So you got her out of the way so you could turn this place into a hellhole," said Chris slowly, seething. "What the plan this time, Wesker? Disappear, lay some ammo around, huh? Huh?"

He thumped the man against the wall. Sweat was dripping into his eyes, blurring his vision. Or maybe it was furious tears. Wesker was tight-lipped and pale as a corpse, a nerve twitching violently in his temple, and a small part of Chris wondered why the man hadn't tried to fight back yet.

"Are you done?" Wesker said it almost amicably, but his voice vibrated on a perilously low octave. Alarm bells began to peal in the deepest recesses of Chris' brain. Back off, they told him. For the love of God, back off before he throws you out the office window. Chris angrily shoved the warning aside. This wasn't the STARS office, and he would be damned if he ever let himself be cowed in front of this man ever again.

His finger tightened. The cylinder on the revolver began to turn.

The Taurus discharged with a thunderous crash. For a moment the world seemed to slow on its axis, and Chris found himself processing information in fragments – like a broken modem. He stared at Wesker, waiting for the man to slump dead to the ground. Why did his wrist hurt all of sudden? An eternity seemed to pass and still, nothing. Chris took his gaze from Wesker's face, his eyes tracking a few inches to the right.

Wesker's hand was locked around his wrist like a vice, forcing the revolver to point harmlessly at the ceiling, but it took a minute for this information to fully sink in. Chris' eyes widened, seized by a sudden and inexplicable panic. No fucking way!

Wesker's bloody lips peeled back into an expression that was more snarl than smirk, his sunglasses reflecting a sudden bloom of fiery red light. "Nice try, Chris," he growled, bending the larger man's arm at a dangerous angle – mere pressure pounds from snapping at the elbow. Chris let out a pained yelp and buckled, exposing himself to a hard strike from Wesker's knee. He dropped to all fours as the air exploded out of him, his organs going into spasm.

"Now, be a good boy and stay," said Wesker, wiping the blood from his mouth. He turned away up the stairs. Chris struggled to his knees with a gasp, the revolver in his hand scraping on the frigid concrete. "Y-you– don't you walk away from me, you bastard!"

"Chris, no!"

Chris didn't know when Jill hadn't gotten there, but either way her cry came too late. He pointed the revolver at Wesker's back and fired, the forlorn click of the empty cylinder echoing in the stairwell. No! Chris pulled the trigger again, and again to the same result. Halfway up the stairs Wesker paused, his head cocked ever so slightly. He smirked, then continued on without turning.

Chris had no idea he could hate anyone so much. He felt dizzy with the anger coursing through his veins. He didn't need a gun – he was going to twist Wesker's head with his bare hands. He lurched forward, but couldn't connect to the muscles in his legs, splinters of pain stabbing outward from his bruised diaphragm. Chris drew a spasmodic breath, feeling as though he was drowning. This was it. He couldn't move, and before he knew it Wesker was gone. A door banged shut somewhere overhead.

In disbelief Chris let his arm fall, the revolver clattering uselessly to the cement. Kneeling in the freezing stairwell with the cold seeping into his bones, he felt furious, useless and betrayed, lost in a nightmare that he couldn't seem to wake up from. He heard swift footsteps on the stairs, and he turned his head to glare murderously at Jill. The woman stopped, pinned by the sheer ferocity in his gaze. On some level he could fathom everything else that'd happened except for her. When Claire had gotten sick, it'd been Jill that had given her over to Wesker. There was zombies banging on the door downstairs, but it was Jill screaming at him not to shoot the man responsible for it. Always, it was Jill. It was like the punchline to a cruel joke.

Jill opened her mouth to say something but then changed her mind, her throat working to swallow. Slowly she crouched to pick up her revolver and then walked back down the stairs without a word. Left alone in the chilly gloom, Chris slumped against the wall. Just a few minutes and he could get up. Just a few meager minutes and then…

He clenched his fists, knuckles whitening, and promised himself that Wesker would pay.

Wesker stepped out onto the rooftop, shoving the door open so hard it banged off the wall. The snow was piled nearly to his ankles and more was coming down by the minute. Taking his phone out of his pocket, Wesker stabbed at the keys and held it to his ear, seething. The thought of Chris made his blood burn, but he forced the incident aside. Answer the phone, you ignorant cretin. There was a click as the line connected to the sound of an obnoxious yawn.

"D- do you have any idea what time it is, Al? I know it's still early for you, but–"

"Shut up and listen, Birkin," Wesker snarled. "There's been an outbreak. I need you to find out what the HELL is going on!"

"Wait… what? Are you sure? Jesus Christ…" There was a crash on the other end of the line – most likely Birkin knocking over the lamp, followed by a string of creative swearing. "Where are you?"

"Harvardville Memorial–"

"What are you doing at a hospital?"

"Never mind! At least a dozen people have been infected so far. I've ordered a complete lockdown, but the situation is only going to escalate." Moving to the edge of the roof, Wesker peered over the side into the parking lot. It was deserted except for a single figure shuffling around close to the marquee. Even from a distance its slow, mindless gait was unmistakable. And where there was one…

"How long before a containment unit can be deployed?" Wesker demanded.

"There's a team in Denver, so two – maybe three hours, but Jesus, Al! You're in the middle of ski country, for Christ's sake! How did the virus even get out there?"

I don't know, thought Wesker, grinding his teeth. His vision burned at the edges, the world around him sharpening with almost painful clarity. He fought to control himself and think. There should have been no possibility of an outbreak this far from Mont St. Michel, which meant only one thing: someone had released the virus deliberately. But who? And how had the infection spread so quickly? On average it took ten to twelve hours for the virus to necrotize enough brain tissue to be fatal. Over a dozen cases couldn't have manifested symptoms at the same time, especially not without several hours' prior warning. The only way such a thing would have been possible… is if the subjects had already been dead or dying when infection occurred, Wesker realized. Upon expiration, it only takes a few minutes for the virus to reanimate the body.

He took a deep breath, his highly analytic mind running over the possible scenarios. Most of them came from Critical Care, which means… A cold chill stole through Wesker's body. The infection didn't start in the hospital.

He looked up over the city. The sky was rapidly turning from slate to a dark, muddy purple as the winter sun dipped behind the mountains. The blowing snow made it hard to see, but Wesker's eyes were sharper than most. Plumes of black smoke rose in the distance, their foundations streaked by the telltale glow of fire. Wesker thought of the infected creatures downstairs and cursed. Many of them had been badly burned.

"…Albert, you still there? I'm putting a call into Denver right now. Our main division is gonna be right behind them, but it's going to take all night before they even reach the States. Albert?"

"I heard," Wesker snapped. "Patch me in with Red Queen."

He needed to talk to Krauser and start sorting things out before they got even further out of hand. Wesker felt as though he was a pawn in somebody else's twisted game, and he ground his teeth until he felt the ache in his jaw. Too many things were happening at once, going all the way back to Chris' contamination with the T-103 parasite. Wait – the parasite. Wesker's thoughts whirled. It couldn't be.

Unable to control his fury Wesker slammed his fist into the bulwark, breaking off a massive chunk of cinderblock that went spiraling away, end over end, to the parking lot far below. It hit with a muted crash that rang in Wesker's ears as he stood there with his fists clenched, trying not to scream.