September 26th , 3:17 a.m., Kendo Gun Shop, Raccoon City.
"You really think there's gonna be anything left in this place?" Carlos' skeptical voice called out to Jill softly as they pushed up to the last gate in the alley.
Roy's padded feet were clicking on the ground when he came to a stop beside her, and it caused Jill to glance down at her furry companion.
The Belgian Malinois had remained resilient in their pursuit through the previous streets. His focus had honed on Jill while they ran; never missing her silent hand signals when she had given them in her haste.
"If Kendo's still in there," Jill answered in a low voice while she watched the many shambling figures still in the street. "He'll have put up a fight."
The S.W.A.T. van they had seen earlier had hit quite a few of the infected; the smashed corpses were currently being devoured by the other infected in the street.
"You all know each other around here then?" Carlos asked, apparently not moved by the disgusting display before them.
While kneeling quietly, she kept her eyes on the zombies wandering around their position. None of them had spotted the three of them yet.
"Kendo, owner of Kendo Gun Shop, high marksman from 1987 to 1994, winner of the annual hotdog eating contest every year, one misdemeanor for participating in a game in which participants attempted to capture a greased pig in Minnesota, and an asthmatic." Carlos was lifting one dark eyebrow down at her while she spoke.
Jill turned her head back over her shoulder to focus on picking the lock. "We're a close town."
"Alright," Carlos breathed with a light chuckle. "Small town rules. That's kind of creepy, but I'll allow it."
"What do you know about small towns?" she muttered before the lock snapped open. The sound was muffled in her experienced hands.
"From a pretty small village in Bolivia," Carlos admitted. "Haven't been home in a long time."
Jill turned slightly to glance at him again, and she watched the large man bend down to give Roy a pat while he avoided her stare for the moment.
"Why'd you pick up with Umbrella then?" she pressed, not fully convinced he was as casual as he claimed.
"Didn't have a choice." He lifted his gaze to hers.
"Everyone has a choice," Jill challenged with a tilt of her head.
"Yeah," he nodded slightly while he spoke. "I guess I did, but it was either that or my people died instead. So, here I am, livin' the American dream." He glanced at the lock in her hands before turning his attention back up to her face. "Least the view is nice."
With narrowed eyes, Jill dismissed his continued flirtatious commentary; she filed his words in the back of her head to broach later.
The gate creaked loudly when she pushed it open, and they would have very little time before the street of enemies knew of their position. The memory of the Spencer mansion came back to her with the droning steps coming from the dark areas out of her range of sight.
"Move," Jill whispered as she gave a hand signal for Roy to follow.
Kendo's door was locked as expected, however, with the announcement of noise, they wouldn't have long before Carlos would need to fire his weapon. It would draw the focus of anything in proximity.
"Don't fire unless you have to," Jill ordered as she began to work her tension wrenches into the old-fashioned lock.
Carlos stood beside her with his M4 lifted in his arms. Trustable or not, he could at least follow orders and it was good enough for Jill at the moment.
"Let's go, Supercop… Hand-to-hand combat isn't ideal out here," he said down to her.
With a light grunt as an answer, Jill did what she did best under pressure. Her fingers were precise and unhurried despite their danger. It would do her no good to allow panic to streak through the work of hands that were built for the cause.
"Jill…" Carlos warned after a few minutes passed.
She could hear the scraping steps of the dead behind her now.
"Hold," she drew out, her wrist twisting slightly as she worked against the last mechanism.
The door was suddenly swinging open, pulling the tension wrench from her fingers, and causing a gasp to release from her throat before the barrel of a shotgun was in her face.
From the corner of her eye, Jill could see Carlos swing his weapon toward the man standing there now with his gun in Jill's face.
A snarl echoed out above the moans of the dead, and Roy was rearing to pounce.
"Jill!" Kendo uttered above her. The shotgun was swinging away.
"Happy reunions later, people!" Carlos was turning back for the zombies.
"Kendo—" Jill started to utter before the older man's meaty hand was wrapped around her bicep, hauling her across the ground on her knees, and into the shop with a toss.
"Roy, halt!" Jill managed to issue the command as her palms slapped against the wooden floor of the shop in her tumble. Roy gave another vicious growl. "Come!"
Roy was bounding through the door before Carlos now and the door slammed as Robert Kendo threw his weight against it, twisting the lock.
"Jesus Christ," Carlos breathed.
Jill turned her head and took in the proud looking woman that held a handgun aimed at Carlos' chest now. A small girl was further behind the woman, crouching down near one of the shelves.
"Tina," Jill croaked to Kendo's wife and lifted her hands to place them on Roy who was pushing his side against her while he too assessed the situation. "It's okay, it's me, Jill. This is Carlos."
"Holy hell, Valentine," Kendo's brash voice called behind them, still at the door. "You're alive—Tina, honey—" Kendo walked past Jill's sitting form now, his hand lifted gently toward his wife. "It's alright. Put it down, okay?"
"Were you bitten?" Tina whispered, lowering her aim, and letting the handgun drop to her side.
"No," Carlos answered first, his rich tone placating with the words that followed. "Not bitten, but we're a little beaten up from running around the city. We mean you no harm."
"Those people outside," Tina said while she stared at Carlos. "They're friends, customers, neighbors—they wouldn't have meant me harm only days earlier but things change."
"What the hell is going on, Jill?" Kendo was turning back toward them both. "What is this shit?"
Jill finally rose to her feet and glanced back toward where his daughter Emma still remained couched on the ground.
"This is…Umbrella's work, Kendo, and work it's going to be when we get the hell out of here and tell people what happened," she finally said.
"Umbrella?" Kendo's brows furrowed. The yellow checkered button up over his shoulders was dirty and looked like it had seen better days. "The pharm' company? What's that got to do with anything?"
"No time to explain," she reluctantly answered and glanced back at the thumping sounds at the entrance of the shop. "Sorry for bringing trouble to your door."
"What the hell are we supposed to do?" Kendo snapped then, his frustration evident. "I've been shooting people I know for days now, Jill! How the fuck are we getting out of here?"
"Robert," Tina hissed. She was holding Emma's tear-filled face against her side when the girl finally rose from her hiding position. "Enough. Just listen to her." Tina's eyes flickered to Jill then. "Good to see you, Jill. Sorry about the gun." Her eyes were on Carlos last.
Carlos gave an understanding wave of his hand.
"Take Emma in the back, Tina. I'll…" Kendo ran a hand over his dirty face before he continued, "I'll come get you in a minute."
"Listen," Jill stepped toward Kendo and clasped his shoulder. She watched as his wife led Emma toward a door just out of sight. "The Sheriff's Department is still standing. We're sending people over to the Railway Marshalling Yard on Stone-Ville Road. They're planning to take a few of their armored vehicles and make it toward the city limits."
"The Marshalling Yard? Hell, that might as well be a world away. I can't move my family through these streets like this." Kendo touched her hand on his shoulder.
"I know," Jill acquiesced with sorrow lining her features. She glanced over at Carlos who was looking toward where Tina and Emma had disappeared to. His expression held its own faraway look. "I saw the military helicopters earlier. They're here, but they're not coming into the city. I'm going to try and hail them and see if I can get us an evac. The police department has the helipad, but I need a radio that can handle their transmissions."
"Tried to get over to the police station," Kendo muttered, gesturing toward the front doors that were facing the back end of the precinct. "Everything went to shit so fast." He sighed and set his shotgun down on the cabinet beside them. "Alright, well, guess I can't just sit here with my thumbs in my ass. What do you need?"
"Just look out for your family," Jill answered and glanced back toward his shop door to the alley. "If I could take a gun or two, I'll get to the police station and see what the status is over there before I call for help. Either way, my goal is to figure out a way to get you three to the Sheriff's Department holdout or straight out of the city. You got a radio in here I can hail them with?"
"Yeah," Kendo turned and began to shuffle through some boxes before he was jogging back behind one of the counters. "Here it is, don't know if it has any juice now."
Jill took the radio and stepped toward the side as she twitched the TAC channel.
"Cortini, it's Jill, over," she breathed into the radio.
"What's your story?" She could hear Kendo ask Carlos behind her. "Don't know your face."
"You wouldn't," Carlos answered while he leaned against the counter and watched Kendo begin to prepare a few guns for them to take. "Fresh into town and fresh out of luck to spare."
"Copy, Jill. We were beginning to think the worst," Sheriff Daniel Cortini hailed over the radio in her sweaty hand.
"It wouldn't be far off the mark," Jill responded to the radio in a tired voice. "Hit a few snags on the road. I've got a few civilians here—Kendo, his wife, and their daughter. I still need to reach the police station, but I need some critical thinking from our men on the outskirts if this goes south."
"I got a few ideas but you're not gonna like 'em," Deputy Everette's voice came from the radio next.
"I ran from a dead lion earlier; I'm finding I'm pretty open to anything right about now," she sassed with a little impatience leaking through her tone.
That caught both Kendo and Carlos' attention. She glanced at them and gave a shrug of her shoulders.
"I'm impressed," Everette's amused tone rang back. "Let us work on some things and we'll get back to you."
"Copy," Jill said before she glanced over to Kendo and lifted her finger from the transmission button on the radio. "We'll go out the back and circle around to the police station." Jill gestured to Carlos and herself. "I'll make sure we bring as many of them away from your front doors when we do. Wait for me to hail before we decide anything. I'll grab another radio in the station."
Kendo was staring at her with an odd look crossing his features.
Ignoring the look, her fingers were twisting the knob for the other TAC channel.
"Jill to the R.P.D., come in, R.P.D.," she hailed next.
Silence.
"This is Jill Valentine," she tried again, her stomach twisting. "Can anyone hear me? Lieutenant Branagh, do you copy?"
Silence.
"Jill," Kendo said hesitantly. "I'm not sure they're doing well over there right now. You might be running your luck thin…lion and all."
The smile Kendo gave her was of a man being tough. Not for himself but for the family that hid in fear in the backroom should the front doors give, and the plans of the future failed.
With the thoughts of the tyrant that still chased her, Jill knew staying and waiting wasn't an option she would let befall them.
"I have to try," she bade softly while she held her long-time friend's eyes. The radio fell from her mouth before she tossed the device back to him. "I have to."
"Yeah," Kendo sighed out. "Figured you'd say that. Take this with you. Give the bastards some things to think about."
"Fuck, is that a grenade launcher?" Carlos was grinning as he laid his hand on the counter. "I've just decided that I like small towns."
"Aint for you, city boy," Kendo snickered, the shadow of the man he had been before was leaking through the nightmare. "This here is meant for her hands."
"Actually," Jill said slowly, peering at her second companion. "Might be best for you to stay here."
"Not an option," Carlos declared when he took his eyes from the weapon. "You're stuck with me now."
"Told you not to feed the strays." Kendo chuckled at Carlos' expense before he looked down at Roy panting beside Jill's feet. "No offence." He beckoned toward Roy.
"You know the stakes," Jill warned with the tyrant-sized issues in mind.
"That I do," Carlos said while he held her eyes with that small smile pulling his handsome face into a genuine expression.
Kendo had laid out a holster for Jill to secure to her shoulders before she was slotting the heavy weapon to her back. Carlos wasn't exactly thrilled when she leaned down to push extra shells into the many pockets of his cargo pants, but he didn't complain either.
Jill clasped Kendo's hand before she gave him a look.
"Protect that family at all costs," she said quietly.
"You know I will." Kendo squeezed her hand tighter before he looked over at Carlos. "Protect her at all costs."
"Have you met her?" Carlos stood behind her now and she could hear the joke in his tone before it sobered. "She's been protecting me, but I will." The words sounded sincere.
The three of them were pushing out the back and circling around the building soon after. While Roy, Jill, and Carlos ran toward the side wall of the R.P.D., Carlos would occasionally knock the butt of his M4 against a car door or a trash can. The dead followed after them in steady beats of sliding feet, and as a result the infected moved further away from Kendo's front doors.
They were heading south down Warren Street and sticking to the shadows when Roy paused his steps and cocked his head.
"Wait," Jill uttered to Carlos, fearing the tyrant had found them again.
Gunfire was echoing out from the streets in front of them. It sounded like it was coming from the southside.
Roy took off in a blink and Jill let out a swear before she whisper-shouted for the animal.
"Roy!" She ran ahead, trying to keep pace until Carlos grabbed her elbow and pulled her to a stop next to the Ennerdale Parking Garage sign.
"Hey," he panted. "We can't just chase after him, the street is full of these things."
"You don't understand," she breathed while her eyes remained on Roy's trotting form zig zagging through the cars. "He's highly trained and whatever has his attention is something else he was trained to listen for. Someone is out on the streets with us, Carlos. Someone else is alive."
The gunshots echoed out once more before they stopped abruptly.
Leon didn't know how far he had run until he hit the juncture of Water Street crossing with Bake Street. The sign for Raccoon City High School was peeking out from a few cars that had crashed in front of it when he assessed the situation ahead of him.
The rapid sounds of his breathing were clashing with the hoarse cries of the dead around him. A cool breeze from the September mountain air caused his sweating skin to react with gooseflesh.
Thankfully the rain had let up sometime earlier in the evening but despite that, the humid atmosphere wasn't helping with the harsh smells of rot and decay that filtered in and out of the industrial portion of the district.
There were so many people in the street.
Not for the first time, he was wondering again how it was possible for something of this nature to happen. Claire and Briggs had spoken of it quietly—a flu that had been running through the city weeks before; the unrest he had seen on the authoritative side of emergency response.
But how was it possible for so many people to have turned all at once? Where did patient zero start and why weren't the surviving people he had been hunkering down with infected too? He was no medical professional but even he understood airborne droplets were hard to avoid as a route of transmission when you were working in close quarters for days.
If this was the flu, he should have become sick too. He had responded to plenty of calls where the aggressors had seemed more than a little ill.
Leon lifted his head from his position in the middle of the road. As far as he could see, there were nothing but bodies making their way through the street. Some of them had already spotted him and the hungry noises they made were attracting the attention of the ones behind them.
It was a chain reaction of almost biblical proportions and he only had one clip of ammo to answer the sermon.
"The present is a veil between anticipation and horror." His father had told him once when he had stood at the entrance of their home in New York. "Lift the veil on your reasons for doing something and madness may follow."
Leon had been familiar with danger and adrenaline for most of his young life. Every time his father left the house, Leon never knew if it would be the last he saw him. As a result, he tended to cling to the teachings of man who also had never led the best example for an honest business answer to life. However, that didn't mean his father hadn't been honorable in his own way. At least toward his family.
That chaotic answer for adrenaline was responding again when Leon began to run toward where the dead corralled the least. The dark shops that lined the street would be no help to him, but he used the low gates and fences surrounding each to separate himself and create blocks of time from their shambling steps.
In his mind's eye he could only see Claire.
The present conditions contained an ending that he hadn't foreseen for himself—hell, he didn't think anyone had, but a distant truth was rising to the surface as hands tore at his uniform when he ran past.
If something happened to Claire and Liam because they had been left behind, it wouldn't matter if he ever escaped this city. Even if he made it out, and found himself dying of old age, he would remain in this city, searching for her in his dreams; trapped in the memory of failure like a haunting refrain.
He didn't see the zombie that had been lying on the ground next to the red Ford he passed next. The dead woman's hand was vicious, and the hold on his ankle had him stumbling in the street before his limb tore from her grasp. The interruption of his momentum caused his wobbling legs to attempt to catch up in step, and he lost that battle when he was also trying to lean out of the way of another reaching enemy.
Leon fell to the ground as a result and the crack of his skull against the car door was a percussive defeat that sounded out into the night.
With doubled vision, Leon opened his eyes to see the first rotting face lowering down for his. His hand sped out and pushed at the damp material of the tattered clothing still on the zombie's frame to keep it back. His left hand was fumbling to raise his gun before the shot knocked the face backward. Leon's ears were ringing as a result of the close fired shot.
There were four of the zombies crowding around him now, crashing to their knees as they reached for the easy meal he had become.
Leon lifted his gaze toward the undercarriage of the car above him now while he still lay on his back. Using his feet to propel him backwards, Leon made a half-mad dash underneath the car. His police vest caught on one of the protruding pieces of the exhaust system when a hand grabbed his foot and yanked.
With a shout, Leon lifted his knee in the space allotted and kicked out while he stuffed the gun into the top of his police vest and began to use the car above him to haul himself toward the other side. There were so many pairs of eyes leaning down and watching him from under the car now.
The zombies were trying to crawl after him instead of coming around the other side of the car, and for a moment, Leon could only thank the illness they possessed for not giving a higher executive function. The other enemies that had been on the other side of the car were making him rethink his prayers though.
The handgun was yanked back out of his vest and the shots he distributed from ground level were true enough before he stumbled back to his feet.
Presently, too many had gathered around the car and before he could assess the situation of his ammo, the gun was clicking empty in his harshly squeezing hands. Leon kicked out at the closest enemy and knocked a few more back in the process as he turned to climb onto the hood of the car. His boots slipped on the windshield before he finally managed to make it to the roof.
Luckily, the car was a Ford F150 truck, and it was just tall enough for most of the reaching hands not to be able to reach his ankles from the middle of the roof.
With the empty handgun at his side, Leon stared out at what appeared to be hundreds of zombies crowding around the car now.
Wrath hadn't ever been something he allowed himself to fall into, but his mistakes were mounting around him, and that helpless fear only fed into the rage that rose within him. He would risk a bite if he jumped off now.
That wrath was singing through his blood when he holstered the gun and looked for the least number of enemies on one side before he heard the noise.
Barking.
Baby blue eyes were lifting toward the direction of the high school in front of him. The distant figure of a dog was charging through the swaying masses and the reaching hands were too slow to grab for the animal.
The badge on the police vest was the first thing Leon took in and the smile that graced his features was one of pride.
It was one of Tony Brown's dogs.
The Shepard paused twenty feet back and continued to bark with teeth flashing at the mob around the truck.
Many of the zombies were turning their forms toward the new noise but some stayed on Leon's towering form above them.
"Good boy," Leon uttered, watching when the dog changed positions on the street and was guiding a decent amount of them away. "God damn, good boy."
"Hey!" A voice called out from the dark.
Leon whipped his head over to see a tall man emerge from the shadows. A curious grin lit the indigenous features of the stranger before he was lifting an automatic weapon in front of him.
"You gonna stand up there all day or do you got a plan?" The stranger called out.
A puff of disbelieving laughter escaped Leon's lips as he held his hands out, palms up in a question.
"I make this up as I go, alright?" Leon answered.
"I can see that. Might I suggest a different option?" The stranger cajoled.
"You have my attention," Leon retorted before he gestured to his predicament. "What do you have in mind?"
"Me," a second voice called out before a loud boom dysregulated the scene before him.
The crowd of the zombies before the truck exploded into fiery pieces after the thump of a discharging weapon sounded off.
"Move rookie! Roy, come!" The second voice thundered before Leon caught sight of a woman in a blue tank top jogging toward him from one of the side streets.
His boots were squishing through the remains of the zombies the woman had blown apart after he jumped down from the truck. He could see the woman dodging expertly around the additional enemies in the street before she was suddenly beside him.
"You're—" Leon began when he caught sight of the badge at her hip.
"Introductions to follow, come on!" The man called ahead.
The dog—Roy, as the woman had called him—was running beside them now. The jingling of his collar was loud in Leon's ears.
He followed behind the two before they ducked into a small alcove just off of Ennerdale street. Leon could see the parking garage he had left his personal vehicle at from across the street.
The zombies following behind were further back and shambling just slow enough for them to catch their breath for a second.
"You're Jill Valentine," Leon breathed as he leaned his back against the brick wall. His fingers reached up to touch the tender spot where his head had impacted the car.
"Sorry, don't know you, but you got it right." Jill answered him while she patted the dog's side next to her. She murmured an affirmation to the dog for his work.
"Leon Kennedy, I'm new at the precinct." Leon gave his half-assed introduction.
He hadn't had the chance to meet any of the S.T.A.R.S. prior to their suspension. He knew enough about them from his time researching the precinct while he was still in New York. They were rumored to be one of the most advanced squadrons outside of the S.W.A.T. They were primarily comprised of military veterans and if Jill Valentine was anything to show for it, he believed in their ability to handle situations cops weren't trained for.
Aside from another rookie on the Bravo side, Jill Valentine was said to be the only woman accepted into the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team. She was also a friend to Claire.
"Where'd you come from?" The man beside her asked. Leon squinted at the patches on his right arm. He didn't know who he was supposed to be with.
"Long story," Leon blew out a breath with his answer. "Thanks for the save though."
"Bit of advice," The man leaned in a little. "Don't play king of the hill with the dead. They don't get tired. I'm Oliveira, by the way. Not as impressive as…" He gestured toward an irritated looking Officer Valentine.
Leon was in a hurry, but when he pushed away from the wall he found himself saying, "Just Oliveira? Is that supposed to be a mononym like Cher or Madonna?"
The man before him gave a delighted tilt of his head in response. His answering grin was seamless on his bearded face.
"I was always a Bono man myself. The first name's Carlos." The man answered. "I thought we were just being formal here."
"Were you stuck out in the streets this entire time?" Officer Valentine questioned them. She didn't look amused by either one of them.
Clearing his throat, Leon dropped his new friend's eyes and glanced toward her.
"No, I was at the precinct up until about an hour ago. One of our officers managed to find a S.W.A.T. van and we were making it for city limits in the south." Leon watched her eyebrows furrow.
"What happened? Did you crash?" The dead were finally catching up, their steps marked their new proximity just beyond the alcove. Officer Valentine didn't appear to be worried while she waited for his answer.
"I think they made it, but I jumped out—" Leon was interrupted by the low whistle of Carlos.
"Deathwish?" Carlos asked with an upwards nod.
"No, a woman," Leon snarked.
"Deathwish," Carlos confirmed with another nod.
"You left someone behind?" Officer Valentine's eyes were hard.
"Not on purpose. There was a lot happening at the time and I thought she made it onto the vehicle in the chaos." Leon moved past them both and looked out to Ennerdale Street. "I need to get back there. There was something else inside the station when we left."
"Who is it?" Officer Valentine asked behind him now.
"Claire," Leon said, glancing back at her. "Claire Redfield."
Leon watched her pretty features transform into something much harder and much more determined.
"Claire Redfield is here?" she grit out.
Leon's eyes glanced back toward the tall structure of the R.P.D. he could see peeking out from beyond the parking garage.
"I really hope so," he whispered.
"S.T.A.R.S.," a new sound reached Leon's ears then. It was a beckoning rasp that had him turning along with Carlos and Jill behind him.
An impossibly tall form was pushing its way through the throngs of enemies in the street. Long, tree trunk sized legs were stomping through and eating up the distance of the road while Leon took in what looked to be a rocket launcher in the thing's hands.
The sight of its permanent grinning and mangled looking face had disbelief lining Leon's next words.
"Ex-girlfriend of yours?" he asked Carlos.
"You want another shot at a Deathwish? I got her number," Carlos still managed a pleased tone in the wake of their terrible situation.
"We gotta go," Officer Valentine said quickly before she was pushing them toward Ennerdale Street and in the opposite direction of the monster. "Don't stop. I don't care what's in the precinct; trust me, whatever it is… it's not as bad as that."
The three of them were running again, Roy sticking by Officer Valentine's heels.
Adrenaline could do amazing things for the body. Adrenaline, also called epinephrine, assisted a person to react more quickly to a threat. It made the heart beat faster, increased blood flow to the brain and muscles, and stimulated the body to make sugar to use for fuel.
For Leon, it apparently also made his brain think he was funny.
Because as they ran, he should have been terrified at what was chasing them now. Claire had mentioned seeing it previously, but the simple report hadn't done justice for its actual size. Despite that, all Leon wanted to do was laugh as they continued to encounter one threat after another.
He wasn't sure what had been in the east hallway before they departed, but Leon was having a hard time imagining it could be worse than the thing that was running after them now.
The southern road out of Raccoon City was packed with countless abandoned cars. Officer Rita Phillips was gritting her teeth when she began to gun the heavy unit of the S.W.A.T. van forward.
"Hang on to something," she commanded in a hard tone.
The flashlight someone was using to provide Dr. Hamilton with light to see wasn't enough for her to catch the faces of her charges in the rear-view mirror, but Rita knew what the stakes were and what their expressions probably looked like.
In the main hall prior to her departure, she'd read about the Lenco BearCat S.W.A.T. vehicle in their Operations Manual before she had made her way down to the vent that would allow her access to the outside.
Little did she know, if she had left even a moment later, she'd have run into the monster that the rest of the officers in the precinct were dealing with prior to her arrival with the unit.
The Lenco BearCat weighed a whopping 17,550 pounds and the 6.7 Liter Powerstroke, Turbo Diesel engine in it was capable of 440 horsepower; it would do damage to anything it rammed into. Still, she had to consider her cargo.
The lieutenant.
A small Toyota Corolla was smashed to the side when Rita aimed for the corner portion of its backend. The impact jostled her crew a bit, but she didn't hear any screams this time around.
They were running out of time.
The southern road out of Raccoon led out into the tall reaching red pines that surrounded both sides of the road. The coniferous trees didn't shed their pine needles in the fall or winter and the result was a blanketed view that didn't allow Rita to see toward the summit point of the road she knew was coming ahead.
The abandoned cars peaked around a certain point in the path and that's when Rita began to see the bodies. Something told her to slow down and when the vehicle was passing slowly over the fallen forms, Rita thought she could see bullet holes lining their pale bodies.
Except their clothes weren't ripped or displayed the trauma that some of the other zombies had. They looked…
They looked like executed civilians.
"Rita!" Detective Elliot was beside her as he leaned toward the windshield with his palm on the center console.
Rita glanced up to see a light piercing through the foliage ahead.
A spotlight had been placed to stand tall over the manmade barricade 100 yards out. Multiple tents were stretching back along the tree line off the road and toward the two mountains of Arklay Pass they were now nestled between.
"The military," The S.W.A.T. Officer—Rita briefly remembered him introducing himself as Martin Johns. He stood behind Elliot now too. "That's a military zone."
"Maybe it was their choppers we heard earlier?" Kevin's voice called quietly up to the three of them.
"Yeah," Detective Elliot murmured thoughtfully as he stared out at the moving forms running out toward them now. "But why didn't they respond—"
A bullet tinged off the bulletproof glass of the windshield and Rita flinched.
"They're firing at us!" Cindy yelled.
"What the hell?" Mark chimed in with anger seeping through his accented voice.
"Turn back, go forward, we need to make a decision," Dr. Hamilton's smooth baritone rose over the chatter. "He's going to die, Rita."
Rita clenched her jaw and gripped the steering wheel in both hands while she allowed the Lenco to creep forward at a low speed. When she was 50 yards away, she came to a complete stop.
The soldiers in front of her had created a line of helmeted heads that leaned out from the barricade. One of them was shouting orders at the vehicle but they didn't fire again.
"This is…" Detective Elliot began but trailed off as fear creeped beneath his usually composed tone.
"We can't leave," Rita seethed. "There's nowhere to go back to and I won't let him die."
"Rita, what are you doing?" S.W.A.T. Officer Johns uttered when she threw the Lenco into park.
Rita didn't answer as she yanked her police badge off her shirt lapel and glanced down toward the console. She had brought the operations book with her and within it was the paper she was looking for. Yanking out the sheet, she threw open her door before she paused and looked back into the vehicle.
Officer Johns, Detective Elliot, Kevin Ryman, Mark Wilkins, Cindy Lennox, Wes Drucker, and Dr. Hamilton stared at her in a growing uncertainty. Below them all, the struggling breaths of the man who meant everything to her carried on at a frightening pace.
Opening her mouth, Rita found no words for what she really wanted to say. Not to them but to the man she was trying to save.
Rita had always struggled to speak in her 12-step meetings; to ask for help. She still did when she attended them at the church on Baker Street every Tuesday and Friday night. Words weren't always the easiest for her, especially when it involved vulnerability.
So, she decided to say nothing at all.
The Lenco door shut with a loud bang into the quiet audience of the surrounding forest. One of the military men was still shouting something down to her that she couldn't make out.
In her left hand, the shield of the Raccoon City Police force badge was pressing into her palm, and in the right was a single piece of paper. With shaking limbs, Rita Phillips lifted both hands above her head and began to walk forward slowly.
To ask for help in the last way she knew how to.
The shouting man was becoming louder the closer she got.
Rita's boots didn't slow.
With the badge facing outwards and the piece of paper held out for them to see, Officer Rita Phillips recalled Marvin Branagh softly in her head.
"So don't tell me you're not smart enough, not good enough, not anything of the sort. You now get to choose what you are every day."
Every day she woke up since those days, she chose not to be a junkie.
Every day she woke up and put on that uniform, she chose to serve her city and prove that anyone could come from anywhere. To choose to make a difference.
Every day she woke up, she saw Lieutenant Marvin Branagh waiting for her in his office, and she chose to serve him while they shared their morning cup before the day started.
Today when she had woken up, she had chosen to continue to help their survivors remain calm in the catastrophe and she could do so with him beside her.
Rita didn't know if she'd wake up tomorrow but that didn't matter.
Because she had been choosing how she wanted to live every day and this would be enough—if she could just get Marvin through to their medical services, it would be enough.
Rita Phillips was still walking forward when the second shot was taken.
"What's she holding?" Lieutenant Matthews called out to the man beside him.
The U.S. Army's half-company platoon had been stationed out there for days now. They were one of many currently surrounding the city.
The first of the civilians had come in small groups, but as the hours had morphed into days, they had stopped coming altogether.
Reports from their eyes in the sky had told the story of the darkening city within a 48 period. Little information had been provided to them, but Lieutenant Matthews wasn't stupid, he had seen the sullen faces of the men around them.
They had been ordered to kill their own U.S. citizens.
Killing people who were scared and were crying in relief to see their troops. Army men stationed at their city limits were a safety and they had run toward them despite the shouts the men around him gave.
The oldest and most senior branch of the U.S. military in the United States of America.
And they had shot them dead.
There hadn't been a lot of chatter in the free periods. No one was joking around anymore, nor were there any words to describe how anyone felt at that moment.
"Don't know, sir," Private Aimsway called out beside him, the binoculars held up to his face as he spoke. "I see a badge in her hand, and I can't make out what's on the paper."
"Steady," Platoon Leader Richards called from behind them.
"Let me see those," Lieutenant Matthews commanded with his cold hand stretching out over the private's shoulder.
Private Aimsway lowered the specs before he handed it backwards to him. Lieutenant Matthews lifted the binoculars to his eyes.
"Ma'am! That's far enough! Stop where you are!" Sergeant Green yelled out once more.
The blonde woman kept walking.
Lieutenant Matthews pulled his enhanced sight over to the vehicle once more. It was heavily armored and even in the darkness he could faintly make out faces pressing up to the glass of the windshield; she hadn't come alone.
Swinging his sight back to the lone woman in the road, Lieutenant Matthews was starting to get a better look.
Her uniform stood out to him first. The blue button up appeared rumpled, but it led down to a utility belt around her narrow hips. There was no gun in her empty holster at her hip. The badge in her hand signified her status as a cop before his eyes trained on the piece of paper in her hand.
"The sheet is blank," one of the other privates with binoculars called out. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It's a flag," Lieutenant Matthews called out softly before he lowered his own set of binoculars. "It symbolizes a white flag; she's surrendering to us."
The white flag was an internationally recognized protective sign of truce or ceasefire in the militaries across the world. It was also used to symbolize surrender. A white flag signified to all that an approaching negotiator is unarmed, with an intent to surrender or a desire to communicate. Persons carrying or waving a white flag were not to be fired upon, nor were they allowed to open fire.
The first mention of the usage of white flags to surrender was made during the Roman Empire. The historian, Cornelius Tacitus, mentioned a white flag of surrender in AD 109. Before that time, Roman armies would surrender by holding their shields above their heads.
And she had done both. The white flag of the blank paper and the shield of her badge held high into the sky.
"It's a cop," the other private called out. "That's a S.W.A.T. van behind her."
"If she makes it to the marked tree line, take her out," Platoon Leader Richards called.
"We're killing cops now, sir?" Lieutenant Matthews uttered out with disgust lining his tone.
"The designation doesn't matter," The Platoon Leader said.
"No," Lieutenant Matthews stood up from his position. "I think it does matter, sir. What are we doing out here? Who are we fighting against because as far as I can tell, I've shot the people I swore an oath to protect and forgive me if I draw the line at killing the cops of their city."
"You willing to risk the violation, lieutenant?" Platoon Leader Richards asked with a bite in his stern tone.
Failure to obey lawful general order in the military could come with hefty punishments. Article 92, if found guilty in the court-martial, would have sentencing that followed with a dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and confinement for two years in prison.
Still, Lieutenant Matthews couldn't seem to weigh that against what was before them and what still lay on the road further up.
"I'm not shooting cops," he repeated. "She's surrendering to us, sir! That still means something to this branch!"
"Sergeant Green." The Platoon Leader had turned his eyes away from the lieutenant now. "Confine Lieutenant Matthews to his tent until we return."
"Can't do that, sir," The sergeant called out. There was a ruffle occurring in the ranks. Some guns were lowering, and the grim faces Lieutenant Matthews had seen previously were looking toward him now.
"I'm not killing any more civilians either," the private with the second binoculars called out too. "Especially not cops."
Arguments were breaking out between the company of men now. Some remained quiet while others were reasoning for a lawful action of orders.
"Orders? What Orders? They didn't tell us why we're killing people in a small town in Michigan, did they?!" Someone was shouting.
"I can't fuckin' do this anymore," someone else said behind the lieutenant.
"I'll do it then," Platoon Leader Richards was sneering out, but it was lost to the cacophony around them. Lieutenant Matthews heard it though, and he was diving toward his platoon leader when the shot went off.
"No!"
Lieutenant Matthews glanced over his shoulder when he saw the woman fall backwards.
The sheet of paper was still fluttering to the ground when gunfire broke out between the ranks of men.
Soon the Platoon Leader lay dead in the dirt along with some of the other men. Private Aimsway had also been caught in the fire, but when it stopped Lieutenant Matthews was breathing hard while he lowered his gun.
"Check the girl," Lieutenant Matthews ordered, his breath puffing white in the growing cold as the awareness that he had just killed some of his own men sank in.
They called that Fragging in the military and the punishment…
There were two figures running down the road toward the girl when Lieutenant Matthews stepped forward with one of the privates.
"Stop!" A long-haired, blonde woman in a white romper yelled while she ran toward them. "Please, stop!"
"Hush girl," an officer in an all-black warned when he pulled her to a stop just before the fallen woman. The S.W.A.T. letters reflected in the light hitting his chest.
"It's alright," Lieutenant Matthews called. "We're not going to fire on you…we've just had a change in command."
"Sir?" The private called, kneeling beside the woman. "She's alive."
"Get her to the medical tent," Lieutenant Matthews barked.
"We have another officer injured," The young woman in the romper said, pointing back to the vehicle.
"Bring it forward," Lieutenant Matthews ordered while he locked eyes with the S.W.A.T. officer.
The young woman was running back to the S.W.A.T. van to communicate his words.
"You fired on her," the S.W.A.T. officer seethed. "She was unarmed, and you fired. Do you know what's going on in that city? What we've been dealing with?" The officer jabbed a finger down toward the fallen woman. "What she and the rest of the officers did to get us out?"
"No, I don't," Lieutenant Matthews admitted softly. "But I want to and we're going to help you, but you should know, we're going against orders to do so."
The silence that stretched out between him and the officer was telling, and Lieutenant Matthews wondered, not for the first time, what was really going on with command.