Chapter 10: The Convergence of Three

(JILL)

Jill had her first stroke of luck at the bottom of a winding flight of stairs, in the cubby hole office of an apartment building's caretaker. She'd sprinted around the corner when she heard the frantic cry of another person (a cry that sounded somewhat familiar), only to see the person she'd come to rescue sprinting madly away as a horde of zombies poured out of an open door. It hadn't taken the undead versions of her fellow citizens long to figure out they had a better chance of catching her than the man running away.

It hadn't taken her long to kill them, at least. There were about eight, and Jill had found two Beretta magazines on the dead body of a patrolman, which she shoved into the pocket of her skirt. Thus blessed with this influx of ammo, Jill felt justified in her splurge on this particular group of zombies. Besides, they were in her way.

After dropping them, she'd found the man she'd been trying to save in the first place had already bolted, a fact which caused her to lapse into profanity her father would've been ashamed of. Then, with a fatalistic shrug, she'd decided to check out the building the zombies had come from.

There was another, swaying back and forth at the bottom of the stairs. Jill shot him in the head, wincing at the echo of her handgun's report, and waiting a minute, her back pressed against the wall, while the ringing in her ears died down a little.

At the bottom she'd found a little work area, maintained by a man for whom the end of the world had apparently always been just around the corner. In addition to a vice grip, a table saw, and various other tools, there was also a box of 12 gauge shotgun shells, thirty loose rounds of 9mm ammo, and a tool for reloading spent shell casings, complete with gunpowder.

Lying against his workbench was the man himself, half his head blasted away, a nasty looking gash across his stomach already wriggling with maggots. Clutched in his hands was a Benelli M3, this one with a sawn of barrel and a butt cap in place of a stock.

Jill bent down and pried the weapon out of the man's dead fingers, racking the pump and sliding a shell into the chamber. If she recalled correctly, the weapon had an internal magazine capable of holding seven shells, but the only way for her to be sure would be to clear the weapon out herself and see.

Whoever the guy was, he'd been pretty well stocked. The Benelli had four shells left, and there were two other boxes, which eyed greedily. Unfortunately, she didn't have the carrying space to take them, but after a moment, she found a tan fanny pack, which she attached to her waist, before shoving as much ammo as she could inside. Rummaging through the table, she also found a nylon strap, which would work perfectly on the shotgun.

I can do this she told herself, gripping the Benelli tightly as she made her way back upstairs.

Back on the street, things looked…about as bad as they had a few minutes ago. There were cars parked randomly on in the middle of the roadway, newspapers scattered all over the place. A squad car burned to her left. Another car had hit a fire hydrant, water spewing merrily into the air, drenching the two dead bodies slumped over the vehicle's hood. Overhead, Jill could see the shapes of crows as they lazily circled the street. They didn't look infected, but after her experiences in July, Jill wasn't interested in taking any chances.

She made her way down the street, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, her eyes trained on the few other people on the street with her. She was the only one living, after all, and things would end badly if the others figured that out.

She could see a doorway up ahead. It looked like some sort of bar, oddly familiar…Jack's, she remembered. It was a favorite watering hole for off duty cops, the proprietor being a former police sergeant himself. If she took things slow, she ought to be able to get there without anyone seeing her…

(MAT)

Mat knew he'd probably bruised a rib or something when the Nemesis had chased him down and used him like a dog toy. His chest was on fire, and he was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be that way. He needed to get someplace where he could check himself out, and that meant getting out of this damn back alley.

He thought he saw Brad darting around a corner at one point, and quickened his pace. He rounded a corner to see the STARS pilot shoving a zombie back onto a basketball court, before turning and running in the other direction. Since that left Mat with an entire half-court full of undead, he couldn't immediately pursue.

Remembering what had happened the last time Mat got carried away with his firepower, he slung his P90 and drew Rain's knife. He wasn't especially good with the weapon, but…it'd have to do.

The blade slid surprisingly well into the back of one zombie's head, the knife severing the dead man's brainstem and causing him to stiffen like an over starched sock. The others turned to see what had happened, though, and Mat realized this wasn't really a viable strategy.

Instead he placed his right foot on the zombie's butt and kicked the still twitching man at his fellows, comically knocking them over. Mat could almost here the sound of a prat fall. He didn't have time for slap stick humor, though, and hurried on his way, shifting the knife to his left hand and drawing the Colt, resting one wrist on the other.

There was a door at the far end of the alley. Mat had no idea where Brad had gotten, but by now he didn't care. He had no desire to hunt the pilot down; if the man ran off and got himself eaten, Mat had reached the point where he honestly wouldn't be very upset.

The door opened easily enough, and Mat stepped inside, to discover he'd found a bar. That meant he had access to alcohol in case he needed to sterilize anything, and…

Mat's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone opening the opposite door.

(JILL)

Fortunately, the door wasn't locked, which meant Jill could pretty quickly excuse herself from the street, hurrying into the bar and shutting it behind her. It was then that she realized she wasn't alone.

"Mat?" she exclaimed, seeing the younger man leaning against the opposite wall. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, so she's decided to come out at last" he replied, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "I'd ask you the same thing, but I suppose we can all just be grateful you've decided to grace the city with your presence."

"What are you talking about?" Jill asked. His tone was really starting to piss her off. She was already not quite as happy to see him as she had been. "And what happened to you? You look like shit."

Mat snorted. "Well, I just got that knocked out of me, so in a way it actually makes sense."

"What are you talking about?"
"You mean you haven't seen him?" Mat looked surprised. He lifted one hand over his head. "Tall, pale, and ugly? Big fella with a nasty left hook and a drive to live I find I admire. The new and improved Tyrant model? Surely you know what I'm talking about?"

Jill shook her head. "No. Sorry."

Mat shook his head. "That just figures. He's not even supposed to be after me. He's out for you guys, STARS. Nasty bastard, too. We dropped an armored car on him earlier, and he didn't even slow down."

"What are you talking about?"

Mat sighed. "You know, I thought it couldn't get much worse after we got back. I mean, we got suspended, no one believed us, Rebecca and Brad leaving. Then the shit really hit the fan, and everything's gone to hell in one big hurry." He looked up at Jill. "What I'm talking about is Umbrella's really nasty little vendetta against us. They've sent in…something to clean up this mess, and specifically make sure we don't talk. He's unstoppable, and he's after anyone who was at the mansion. You, me, Chris, Barry, Rebecca. Hell, the thing even went after Brad." He sighed and pushed off the wall. "Well, you'll meet him soon enough. He's got an uncanny knack for finding us right when we don't want him to." He started to walk away, heading for the door she'd used to get in.

"Where are you going?" she asked, starting to follow.

Mat turned and glared at her. "We're gonna die here, Jill. Just accept that. It's inevitable. If the Nemesis doesn't get us, then the zombies or one of the other million and one abominations running the streets in packs will. Just numbers. We don't stand a chance." He sighed. "I'm going to find Rebecca. I don't care what you do, so long as you don't try to follow me. I'm already on that thing's shit list, but I suspect if we're together, it'll be like free beer at a top gear rally. So go home, take a nap, cry in the corner for all I care. In the long run, it won't make a difference." He headed for the door. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to go find my best friend."

He paused a last time, and looked at her over his shoulder. "I mean it. Don't follow me. It's too dangerous for us to travel together right now. But, if you can make it…I'm going back to the precinct. There's something there I need. If you find me there, maybe we can work something out." Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open and left.

Jill stared after him for a moment. Whatever had happened to him, it was clear he was blaming her for it. She didn't know how to fix that, and didn't know if she even could.

Even worse was his attitude. Mat had always struck her as an optimist. She found that endearing, in a slightly annoying kid-brother kind of way. But something had shaken him and caused him to lose hope. And this Nemesis thing he'd mentioned.

Jill shook her head. "Shit just keeps piling on" she muttered.

(MAT)

The journey to the RPD building wasn't especially hard for Mat. Given his generally bad state of health, he could fake pretty easily being a zombie, walking slowly and with a stumbling gait that wasn't at all faked. That wasn't to say he was trying to pass himself off as infected; he wasn't stupid enough to think he could actively bluff the zombies into thinking he was one of them, but unless they got a closer look at him, they didn't seem to be any wiser for it.

That in mind, Mat stuck to the main roads. In the wide open spaces, he could see trouble coming from farther away, meaning he could prepare one of his limited responses.

Just because he felt a little safer on the main roads, didn't mean he felt safe. On the contrary, the twenty minutes he spent on the road to the precinct were the most terrifying of Mat Dawson's life. He suspected he could still outmaneuver the zombies wandering the street, but if a hunter or, God help him, the Nemesis showed up again, he knew he'd be screwed.

Fortunately, that didn't happen. He had to assume the monster was off hunting elsewhere. While that was good news for him, it probably sucked for whoever the thing was bothering. At this point, so long as it wasn't Rebecca (or Billy, since he was feeling charitable), Mat didn't really care.

He approached the RPD building from the back. He remembered from the night before how thick the infected had been at the front and northern perimeters, so he figured he'd be safest coming in at with as much of the building as possible between he and the hottest areas.

Unfortunately, there was a reason the zombies hadn't tried this side, one he hadn't taken into account when he made his plans. Namely, the nine-foot tall solid metal fence surrounding the RPD motor pool, part of the precinct's expansion, which also included the SWAT offices, his current destination.

A zombie shambled past Mat as he leaned against the wall. He was beginning to think the infected relied not on some supernatural sixth sense to find prey, but were more like sharks: they attacked, or at least pursued, anything moving at a certain speed. If he could avoid moving quickly, they'd probably keep ignoring him.

Unfortunately, that realization didn't do Mat much good, since it still left him on the other side of the big metal fence, with no way to open the two large, metal gates. They usually required a big engine to slide open, but since the power was out, that didn't do him any good in the here and now.

Then Mat had an idea. It was going to be painful, but then, so was just about everything else he'd gone through in the past day and a half, and if it paid off, he'd have access to ammo, supplies, and potentially even a big enough gun to take down his newest groupie.

Turning, Mat edged down the fence, his P90 hanging loosely against his stomach, his right hand gripping it. If need be, he could have the weapon up and ready, but the .224 was a loud cartridge, so he'd prefer not to fire if he didn't have to.

He found what he was looking for readily enough. The tree he picked out was wide enough he figured he'd have an easier time climbing it. Even better, there were plenty of low branches he could use to get a leg up. Ignoring the pain in his sides, he began his ascent.

Now safely off the ground, Mat encountered the second problem in his great plan to infiltrate the RPD building. Namely, it appeared whoever had been the groundskeeper for the precinct had thought ahead, and seen fit to trim all the over hanging branches, meaning Mat couldn't just edge his way along like a heavily armed squirrel and drop ever-so-lightly onto the station's grounds. Instead, he'd have to jump.

Even better, there was barbed wire on the fence, meaning if he missed…

"Better not miss then" he muttered, gathering himself, taking a moment to steel his resolve, and then lunging into space.

He made it…almost.

Mat felt something tearing at his back on the way down, and realized his jacket had gotten snagged on the barbed wire. He shrugged out of it just before he managed to hang himself from the fence, only to learn the P90's strap was looped around his jacket…and it was on its way to see his face.

Mat turned his head at the last second, so the weapon only smacked into his cheek, rather than his teeth. Twisting a little, he managed to get his arm out of the strap, before using his momentum to pull his SMG and the jacket off the fence. He landed with a groan on the hard pavement, remembering to bend his knees at the last second, absorbing the impact, which nonetheless jarred his teeth.

Still, he'd made it, and that was the important thing.

Mat slid back into his jacket, taking stock of his surrounding as he did so. The stretch of blacktop between the RPD building and the annex containing the SWAT and aviations branches was surprisingly zombie free. Mat was willing to chock that up to the area's ridiculous fences, coupled with the fact that the RPD had evacuated the building, in an effort to concentrate as many guns as possible at the precinct.

There were several empty vehicles sitting around, including two armored cars and a few other squad cars. Those would've come in handy when the time had come to evacuate, had Branagh been willing to pull out when they needed to…and had the engines in each vehicle been repaired. Unfortunately, they weren't, and even more unfortunately, only one competent mechanic (the short southerner named Rita) had still been alive by the time everything hit the fan. There just hadn't been time to put everything back together, forcing Rebecca and Rita to go on their little expedition to turn the station's gas lines back on, and leading to the deaths of dozens more officers trying to hold on in the meantime.

Mat wasn't especially happy with the RPD's leadership. Pretty much, it had been shit. There had been Albert Wesker, who was homicidal. There'd been Peyton Welles, who was also nuts, even if in the end he'd gone down fighting. And Marvin Branagh…well, Mat didn't have an especially high opinion of him either, but he was almost certainly a zombie, and Mat didn't believe in speaking (or thinking) ill of the undead.

The point being, Mat suspected things would've gone differently had someone else been in charge. Granted, he had no idea who that someone might've been, but surely there was a way things could've turned out for the better.

He made his way to the annex building. He hadn't been inside since he'd been "reinstated" at the start of this nightmare; he hadn't set foot in the offices of Special Weapons and Tactics since July. He still had stuff inside; more importantly, he still had ammo for the P90 there. 5.7x28mm was a bizarre enough caliber that it wasn't readily available just anywhere, and those places that did sell it did so at ridiculous prices. Mat had spent good money on his bullets, and he intended to get his money's worth out of each and every one of them.

The annex wasn't ever meant to function as a police station; originally, it had just been an apartment building the precinct took over when they ran out of space at the main building. They'd moved SWAT out of the cubbyhole they used to be in (before moving STARS in), along with the pilots. It wasn't as…nice looking as the main station. It was purely functional, without the ridiculous art museum feel of the main building.

Mat headed upstairs, making a right turn at the armory. There he grabbed a couple of P90 magazines, as well as a box of .45 ACP. He didn't have the Browning anymore, so grabbing 9mm ammo made no sense. On a whim, he grabbed a couple M14 magazines, sticking the lumpy 20-round feed devices in the pocket of his cargo pants. He had a feeling Chase would appreciate them.

Then he pulled a small, silver key out of his pocket. There was a lock box in the armory, where they kept weapons confiscated either because they were illegal to own or because a suspect had been carrying it when they were arrested. Most of the guns inside were either plain ridiculous (like the WWII bazooka they'd taken from some white supremacists) or not especially useful in the current situation (like the AKM they'd snatched from a group of hard-core left-wing terrorists, who apparently had realized 7.62mm Russian ammo was…uncommon in Colorado). But there was one weapon he knew he'd be able to get some traction out of.

(JILL)

There was a fire on Jill's left. It looked like it might've been a pharmacy at one point. It was somewhat satisfying for her to see the Umbrella logo aflame…but it was only a petty kind of satisfaction. Not even everyone who worked for Umbrella deserved this walking nightmare.

The flames weren't too close to the edge of the alley Jill was using to skirt the edges of the devastation. So far, she'd managed to avoid the infected…

So far.

Jill's eyes widened at the sight of two dark shapes darting out of the fire.

"Fuck…" Jill muttered, her hand tightening on the Samurai Edge. She didn't have time for this.

The two infected dogs had probably not been in the best of shape when the tyrant virus got hold of them, but the mere fact that they'd been lit on fire ruined any last chance they might've had for passing as living.

The first dog leapt out of the fire…and met Jill's first bullet with its forehead. It let out a yelp of surprise and was thrown back into the inferno. The other didn't even slow down, driven by its single-minded desire for her.

Jill had had a lot of experience with single-minded desire involving her. That was what she'd liked about Edward; he wasn't a stereotypical dick. And monsters like this had taken him from her.

Jill didn't even think. She lashed out with her right leg, her boot connecting with the dog's body. It let out a yelp, slamming into the wall. It tried to stand, but she didn't give it a chance, firing her handgun again and again, the infected dog's body ravaged by the 9mm.

Jill took a step back, pressing herself against the wall, herself shuddering a little. She'd almost lost it there. She thought she'd dealt with all this a few weeks ago, but it was starting to look like she hadn't, and damn it, she didn't have time to deal with it now.

She unslung the shotgun and made her way down the street. Fortunately, she'd managed to avoid the…thing Mat had said was after them. From what he'd said, it was hunting him mercilessly, but so far she'd avoided it. She hoped to keep it that way.

There were no infected on the final stretch to the RPD building. There was a taxi rather indecently mounting a fire hydrant a few feet away from the main gate. Jill stepped past it, her boots splashing in the water already building up in the gutter.

She pushed the gate open, stepping inside. She noted the skid marks on the curb in front of the station's main door. It looked like the RPD had pulled out in a hurry. Mat was harboring some resentment for her not being there, but it looked like things had gone pretty well…

The sound of the gate swinging open behind her caused Jill to whirl around, starting to bring the shotgun up, but felt like an idiot a second later when she realized who had surprised her.

"Brad!" she exclaimed, surprisingly happy to see the Alpha team pilot. He was certainly a pain in the ass, but all things considered, it was good to see him again.

"Jill!" he said, his eyes darting around frantically. "Hurry, he's-!"

Jill didn't get to hear what was following Brad, mainly because the thing in question chose that moment to leap out of nowhere, landing in the circle drive between them.

"Ah!" Brad shouted, staggering backward. He drew his handgun, a big Samurai Edge model with a compensator, but after firing only two shots he realized that was useless and huddled against the far wall. "Jill, help!" he screamed.

Under different circumstances, Jill would've rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the whole situation, but these were not other circumstances. She was too taken aback by the…thing in front of her.

Mat had described the thing as Umbrella's new Tyrant. About the only concession Jill could make to that was that the thing was tall. Everything else was so wholly new, so wholly terrifying as to be beyond compare.

The monster stalking toward Brad was big and broad, its wide shoulders tapering straight down its huge arms, its ham-sized fists covered in pale flesh. Its bald head was focused intently on the hapless pilot, but Jill could see open sores in its sickly scalp, and what looked like massive, ropey sinews covering emerging from the huge black trench coat it wore wrapped tightly around its huge body. "STARS" it growled, its voice artificially synthesized and yet strangely primal.

Oh God Jill thought. It talks.

The thing reached one of its huge hands out, grabbing Brad by the head and lifting the struggling pilot into the air, his feet kicking frantically as he struggled in vain to be free. The monster bent its other arm at the elbow, a strange sixth finger flailing around at the heel of its hand. Suddenly, that extra appendage stiffened, shaping itself into a disgusting, red-colored spear. The monster raised its arm to the level of Brad's head, preparing to shove the tentacle into his face. Jill looked away-

BLAM!

BLAM!

Jill's head whipped around to see Mat standing on the front steps of the precinct, a monstrous yet somehow comfortingly familiar magnum revolver in his hands.

The Tyrant bellowed in rage, two large, .44 inch holes in its arm. It dropped Brad to the ground, who sat on the ground staring up at the monster in terror. Then, without a second thought he turned and bolted, scrambling for the gate so quickly he forgot his handgun.

"Damn it" Mat almost whined as he watched the pilot flee, as if this wasn't the first time such a thing had happened. The Tyrant turned its full attention to him, though, striding purposefully forward, its wide, lipless mouth skinning back across its rancid teeth.

Mat opened fire, four more shots from the revolver into the thing's chest that didn't do more than cause the Tyrant to stumble a little. He pressed a switch on the side of the magnum, dropping the spent casings from the cylinder, pulling out a handful of bullets. "Shit-" he swore, the word long and drawn out as he watched the monster ball up its fist to slam it down on him.

Jill didn't hesitate, bringing her shotgun up and blasting the thing point-blank in the face. The Tyrant stumbled a little, surprised by this onslaught. It looked between her and Mat for a moment, as if confused as to who it wanted to kill more. It didn't get a chance to make up its mind, Mat firing a burst into its face from his P90.

"C'mon, Jill, help me kill this thing!" he shouted, squeezing the trigger on his SMG until the magazine went dry. Jill didn't need any second urging, firing the shotgun into the monster's face as quickly as she could.

The Tyrant stumbled back under their combined onslaught, trying to raise a hand to shield its face. Then, it stopped, swaying a little before collapsing to the side, its massive body causing the sidewalk to buckle under its weight.

Mat lowered the P90, breathing heavily as he leaned against the RPD building. After a moment, he cautiously made his way forward, looking at the inert monster. "Shit" he said quietly, before turning to Jill. "He's not down." He paused, thinking that over. "Well, he's down, but he's not out." He reached down, picking up Brad's handgun and stuffing it in his waist band. "C'mon, I'd rather be someplace else when this bastard wakes up."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed for the precinct. After a brief glance at the Tyrant, Jill followed.

End of Part I