Part II

The swelling of Evil

Chapter three

"Today's date is the fifth of October, I think. My name is Ben and I'm a news reporter for a local paper of Raccoon City. What I'm about to tell you on this tape recorder will be the most difficult thing for me to say. So, I guess there's no other way to go about it but to start from the beginning...

"It began as a simple news report of victims hospitalized for ailments and brutal wounds. So plain, something that was so normal in this modern age of violence we perceive it as nothing but an ordinary five minutes of our ten o'clock news. Little did we know that this single news report was only a seed from which the roots and extending branches of evil had yet to grow.

"Soon more attacks, like the first, became the centerfold for all media. Dozens of citizens on the outskirts of the city were being mauled by a group of men with numbers gradually escalating. Police reports stated simply that it was a gang, but anyone who had a lick of sense knew otherwise. These attacks were linked to those that had happened a few months before in Raccoon Forest.

"The church was opened as a place to help house and nurse the attack victims, their numbers were growing by the dozens. What was worse, they would slip into comas and within hours they would reemerge, only different. The victims became enraged, apparently incapable of human thought and speech. They attacked and mauled anything in sight. The church and hospital became madhouses. Those were the first two places to go...before they were quarantined with the insane victims still ravaging inside. Those two places became the nests of the victims, or as I myself have come to call them, the infected.

"It was about that time, that the shit really hit the fan. The infected started to form mobs, and they began their onslaught upon this quiet, tucked away little town..."

-Ben Bertolucci, Local news

000

September 29th, 1998

It was the late morning in Raccoon City, the sky heavily clouded with billowy gray and streaks of purple. That smell of rain and hot cement permeated the air, the cold chill of autumn's bony fingers gave everyone a yearning to be inside. Yet the weather was not of concern. All throughout the streets and pubs, the restaurants and workplaces, the schools and playgrounds, rumors were spreading.

Talk filled the ears of the town, whispers about the strange murders, the disappearing of "this one girl my sister knows" or "Did you hear about Ernie?"

Most would phase this off as mere urban legend or worry because of the recent occurrence.

That was a mistake.

000

September 29th, 1998

Police Chief Brian Irons didn't know what the hell to do. In one hand he held a piece of paper, still hot from the fax machine. It was simple, plain white with the Umbrella Corporation's logo in the upper corner. Only five or six lines of text were on the document, with the initials of one of the lords of the corporation as a signature of seniority and purpose. Such a simple piece of paper, but what was stated is what horrified Irons so much. It was the very thing he had been fearing for so long. In his other hand he held a bourbon, a full glass, and his entire body felt cold with sweat as he understand the sudden weight that had plummeted down upon his shoulders.

It had all started out easy, with a check from Umbrella that Irons could not refuse. But with that check came a certain responsibility, that at first Irons thought he could take. But now, now it was too much. Every day, homicides were coming in every goddamn day, and each day the numbers and casualties were growing. Phones were ringing, people were simply running to the police station, asking to stay there or sometimes wanting to pay the officers to stay at their houses and guard them. It was going to be another long night of trying to keep the truth blanketed, and Irons knew it. He knew that being bought into this whole deal was too much, and especially as one of Mayor Michael Warren's advisors.

Of course, not even the mayor knew the truth about all the sudden murders. The truth? What was the truth? The truth was something so impossibly deep, something no one could fathom unless they had been there from the start. The truth was the Umbrella Corporation, the faceless organization that was supposedly the savior of America's fucking economy, was really a tyrannical overlord who wouldn't think twice to smite anyone who got in their way. They created this mess, and now they were bribing Chief Irons to cover it all up and just "let the city be taken."

Carriers, Irons assumed that was the multitude of zombie-looking bastards that had been infected with whatever piece of biological warfare Umbrella had come up with now. But he needed the money, he needed it to come out on top. So he'd done what he was told. He had fired the original S.T.A.R.S. members, they knew too much. He hired a new team, picked out specifically by none other then Umbrella. This new team was corrupt, also under Umbrella's payroll, and they would do anything asked of them. Anything.

But then of course there was keeping the mayor and his whole party in unawares of the situation. Irons had to have his officers, only the officers under the power of Umbrella, to be at every crime scene the minute that it occurred. He wanted the "carriers" taken away and put in quarantine, which was currently a hospital. The hospital was completely walled off, like a prison with no guards. A homeless shelter was another location.

This was all difficult, but Irons managed knowing he was now financially sound. So far, it hadn't been impossible. But this next task, Police Chief Irons knew that God would make him pay for this one. Again he read the fax in his hand, the paper quivering:

Police Chief Irons.

We thank you for your cooperation in quarantining the carriers. You shall be rewarded with the full amount of $2,000,000 if you complete one more task. Release the quarantined victims into the city, by whatever means necessary. See to it that the infection spreads, and officials will be sent in to keep the virus from spreading past the city limits.

O.S.

Police Chief Brian Irons felt his throat swell up. Yet he already knew he was doing it. He reached for the phone and dialed the number for the S.T.A.R.S. office.

"Officer Brady? It's Chief Irons," he said through his fat cheeks and rustled mustache.

"Yes sir, what do you need?" Officer Brady asked coldly, the callousness of his voice had Umbrella written all over it.

"Umbrella wants them released."

"I know. We're leaving now."

"Good, just get it done quickly and quietly. I don't want-"

"We won't be seen."

"...Good."

Irons slammed the phone down on his desk and took a long drink of his bourbon. Barbados. Yes, that's a good place to get away.

000

September 30th, 1998

"This is reporter Patricia Goldberg reporting live here on the top of a small apartment building at the corner of eighth and Bybee Lane! As you can see from the crowds below, all of Trask district is in utter chaos! This is going to be Channel nine's last message to all of you currently in Raccoon City, get out now. The infection that was quarantined has broken loose into the streets, and a mob of the infected victims has formed, rioting throughout the district. Get out now-Oh my god Tom they're on the roof! They're on the roof run! Run!"-

-"Citizens of Raccoon City, this is your Mayor, Michael Warren, speaking to you not as your leader, but as one of you. Get out now. Get out while you still can. The infection that our police had held quarantined at the local Raccoon City hospital has broken loose and is spreading rampantly throughout our city in the form of a growing mob. Take whatever you need and leave town..."-

-"Where the fuck is government! Where the fuck are the police!"-

-"And as we kneel down before the wrath of our mighty lord himself, it becomes clear that this is our day of reckoning. It becomes clear that he shall smite all those who kiss the devil's hand, and he shall reconcile with any who dare to oppose the lord's almighty reign."-

-"Someone fucking do something! Why are we all alone! Someone help us! Please!"-

-"As the guardians of Raccoon City, Umbrella Corporation's only concern is your safety. Please remain calm and stay in your houses. Do not, I repeat, do not leave the city's limits. There is no need for panic, it will all be over soon..."

Anarchy reigned throughout the streets. Everywhere there was the sound of cries, the sound of explosions, the smell of fire and of death. And above all, the hot, rotting, evil force that scraped against every door and pounded against every window. The infected mobs ran, pillaged, and smothered the town tucked away into the far reaches of the Raccoon Forest. Glass was shattered, cars were wrecked, and everywhere people were dying. Umbrella's work had truly reached it's darkest pinnacle.

000

"Leon! God dammit Leon open the fucking door!" Joseph Frost's fists hurt from pounding against the heavy door to his friend's room.

The power had been shut off in the apartment, and the only light was the red and orange glow of fire and chaos that peered in through every window. Argus whimpered and barked in the far corner of the living room. Outside the screams and cries were beginning to grow, that cacophony of haunting chants. A thousand deep-throated howls and roars intermingled with wails and high-pitched screams. The sound that had still lingered in Joseph's memory. It was the sound of the dead.

"Oh Jesus..." Joseph cried, his eyes hot with tears and his heart heavy with panic, "This isn't happening man...this isn't fucking happening."

But it was, and he knew it. Somehow, Umbrella had found him again. They were taking the entire city, letting it fall to the hands of blood. Suddenly Joseph heard a tremendous crash, and he ran for the window in the living room. He looked out, and his body went cold. The sound was the noise of the doors to his apartment building being splintered open. They were inside.

"Shitshitshit!" he spat through gritted teeth, and turned back to the apartment.

Okay, relax, Joseph. Just assess, there are a couple thousand zombies outside of your apartment building, smelling your flesh, wanting your blood, and your friend is somehow sleeping through it. What do you do? Well hey, there's always the fucking emergency hotline. Joseph jumped over the couch and ran into his bedroom, stumbling over the many clothes, cigarette packs, playboy magazines, and beer bottles to get to the closet.

He threw it open, and there she was. His boomstick. A Remington 870MCS shotgun with a sawed off barrel, accompanied by a belt and vest pocketed with shotgun shells. He threw on the vest and belt, grabbing the shotgun and beginning to load the shells. He ran back out of the dark shadows of his room, grabbing his bandana on the way out. He could hear the screams rise up from below him through the floorboards. They were getting closer. Joseph had to move his ass.

Okay, Joseph decided it was best to just try and break down Leon's door. He ran back across the living room, full charge into Leon's door. It didn't budge.

"Fuck!"

Joseph stepped back and aimed the shotgun. No wait, he could hit Leon. Dammit, too much freaking stress, and he didn't have any god damn cigarettes!

Joseph looked around and thought. Even if he did get through that door, what are the chances Leon would even wake up? Joseph couldn't carry him, that'd be too hard. But it wasn't like Leon to sleep like this, maybe he was passed out from something, Joseph had noticed him taking a lot of medication. The thought hit Joseph that Leon might have been in there for the past few days, hell Joseph hadn't seen him once and it hadn't even dawned on him that something was wrong. No time. Joseph tossed the shotgun down on the couch and ran back into his room. He grabbed the dresser against the far wall and heaved.

"Oh! Come on you fat wooden fuck!" he groaned as he dragged it along the floor, slipping and sliding out towards Leon's room. It was a heavy son of a bitch.

Outside the apartment's door he could hear banging, and more screams as other apartments were being thrust open, families exposed to the monsters that were lurking closer and closer. Joseph shoved the dresser against Leon's door, and ran to grab more things. He hoisted the couch up, stumbling and falling and tripping over himself as he pushed it against the door. Next was the leather chair, the dining room table, the big screen TV-...no not the big screen TV. Joseph was just throwing the last few dining room chairs against Leon's door when suddenly he heard the first rattling smack against his apartment door.

Joseph froze, and he felt a wave of utter shock wash over him like ice cold water. They were here. Everything else went quiet, he could hear nothing except for that heavy smashing against the door. He had locked it with every possible lock on the door. But one single thrust from the opposing side told him that that wouldn't save him now. Joseph grabbed the shotgun and moved the last bit of furniture into place, stepping back to take a look at the pile of stuff...that he had piled up against Leon's door. God let it hold, please let Leon be all right.

Suddenly there was a thunderous crack, and the door split and buckled beneath the weight. Joseph's shock washed away, and the deafening noise returned from the streets outside. Joseph stared at the door, his shotgun in his hands, he pumped it once and aimed, his fingers quivering upon the trigger. Where the hell would he go if he got out? The police station. Yea.

Louder and louder the fervent smashing and beating came against the door, the grunting hoots and gnashing screeches echoing and multiplying outside. Their cries becoming one solid mass of noise as they heaved. Argus barked and howled furiously, beckoning them to come in. There was no other way out.

The door burst open, and Joseph screamed.

000

The screams brought Claire Redfield's bones to a chill. She heaved her tired lungs, pushing herself up the stairs to the doors of St. Teresa's church. The children, she could only think of Sister Anna and the children. She stumbled to the top of the stairs and risked a glimpse over her shoulder. She glimpsed the once beautiful park, caught up in a furiously massacring fire. Beyond the park she could hear the wailing, the hopeless sirens, and the roaring. The roaring was awful. A furious, beating, relentless chorus of angry calls coming from that mob of...things. Sure they had at one time been considered people, but no longer. Their faces twisted and rotting, their bodies contorted and straggling along, some of them galloping along ravenously. They scorned the streets of the town, and Claire had been lucky to have made it here.

She had seen the news bulletin, the mob that had formed as it broke free like scalding water from the hospital's gates. Her first thought was of the kids and Sister Anna, so she came as fast as she could, dodging through alleyways, and climbing fire escapes to reach the church. Claire paused a moment to let all the chaos soak in, the rushing heat from the fire coupled with the sickening realization that all of Raccoon City was being taken over. She thought of Leon and her brother Chris, what they had gone through, and she instinctively knew that somehow this was linked.

Claire reached for the heavy oak doors of the church, and stopped...the doors were closed. Never, in all her years here, had the doors been closed. She shook the unwanted thought off and pulled with difficulty against the doors, and crept inside.

The massive body of the door slammed shut behind her, silencing the anarchic chaos that reigned outside. All went quiet, and only the orange glow from the fires illuminated the deserted hallway through the stained glass windows. Claire listened to the silence, her despair rising at the absence of children's laughter. The absence of that innocence, the absence of that good feeling replaced now with only a creeping solitude.

Claire's heavy breathing was loud, echoing through the dark hallway. She reached into her jean pocket for her keys and pulled them out, switching on the little flashlight keychain. The milky white light shot out like a beam through the dust. Oh no...

Claire already began to feel the worry inching up her throat and tugging at her, making her want to break down in tears. Her flashlight stabbed the darkness, running up shakily along the walls and floor. Blood was splattered up against the wall, trickling down to splotches that lay scattered about the stone floor. She had to be strong, she had to be strong. Chris would have been strong, she just needs to do whatever Chris would do.

"Sister Anna?" Claire called reluctantly.

There was a sudden echoing crash. Wild, stumbling slamming and stomping approaching her from every possible direction. Another loud crash made Claire jump, stumbling backwards for the doors. Closer and closer, and suddenly the doors in front of her were flung open, and Claire let out a cry as candle light flooded into the room from behind the opened doors. A figure stood in the luminescent doorway, hunched and twisted. The figure was coughing and twitching horribly, and Claire could just barely see a nun's dress stained with crimson.

"Sister Anna!" Claire gasped.

Claire moved to run for the poor woman but something inside her told her not too. Her leg muscles felt the want to edge forward...but she couldn't do it. Claire looked at the figure of Sister Anna, who was gasping hoarsely now.

"Sister Anna..." Claire said cautiously, "Where are the kids?"

Sister Anna suddenly twitched, jerking her head back with a sort of spitting cough, her fingers curling tightly. In the dark orange candle light behind her, her face was masked, yet the glistening of her wet flesh was distinct. She began to walk closer to Claire in sudden, bursting steps halted only by the need to catch her balance. Claire took another step back, her hands instinctively reaching for a pocket knife Chris had given her for her fifteenth birthday.

But it was Sister Anna. The woman had been such a kind mentor to Claire for years. She could feel her heart beat rampantly, her breath drawing shorter and faster as Sister Anna began to moved closer towards her in that stumbling, intoxicated way.

"Sister Anna please...just tell me where the kids are..." Claire was on the verge of tears, fearing the monster she knew her mentor had become.

Claire had seen it on the news. But she couldn't accept it, that the woman who had practically been her mother was now...a monster. Claire stumbled against the wall, the cold wood pressing hard against her back. Claire felt her fingers slip about the pocket knife, opening the blade. she stared at the oncoming demon.

Sister Anna snarled and croaked, coming into the light that sauntered in through the windows. It was then that Claire could see every unwanted detail of the ragged woman's face. Her wild eyes were a dirty white and red, the skin on her face swollen and wrinkled with puss and blood. Her forehead was torn open, and there were teeth marks where someone had dug their teeth in and snagged along her cheek. Her bloated, torn hands extended, her mouth gaped open wide as she reached out for Claire's figure in the corner. Closer.

"I'm sorry!" Claire screamed as she stabbed out with the knife.

She thrust the knife into the woman's soggy forehead, and her heavy body buckled and collapsed to the floor, her head opening wide from the blow; the splattering contents slipping out amidst chunks of white skull.

Claire gasped in the silence, her eyes fixated upon the crumpled body of her old teacher. The knife dropped from her quivering hands, and she inhaled in a heaving gasp. What if Sister Anna had just wanted help? What if she wasn't crazed like the people in the mob? God...Claire didn't know. She felt the hot tears begin, but she stopped them dead. She gasped for air but received only that hot, crusting taste of rot. She had to maintain. She had to keep focus and find the children. They could still be alive, and she knew that they were her responsibility now.

Claire slid along the wall passed the lifeless body of Sister Anna, on towards the room that she had come out of. There were dozens of candles pushing their hot, orange glow out from the doorway. Sister Anna had let them for prayer. As Claire moved along the wall, coming closer and closer to the dim glow, she noticed the trails of blood smeared along the doors to the main room of worship.

No longer did the children's laughter come to her ears. No longer did that sweet feeling of innocence touch her skin warmly, but a new feeling dragged along her flesh like rusted nails. She came to the doorway, the candles flickering and sashaying their orange glow amidst the ebbing darkness. Claire squeezed her flashlight. The cathedral of the church was empty, save for the warm glow of the candles for prayer. Sister Anna had let probably lit them...

Blood lay in puddles amidst the aisles and rows of the long, empty benches. The carpet felt wet, squishing with gushing sounds beneath Claire's boots. The tall cathedral was black, the shadows of evil cloaking themselves over the face of god. Claire's flashlight moved shakily about the floor. At last the silvery light came to the alter, and Claire saw them. The children, lying together in a pile of scarlet. Oh god no...

It was a relentless sin. It was an omen, Claire realized as she saw the children crumpled there in that pile. They were all dead. Claire collapsed to her knees, cupping her hand over her mouth and dropping the flashlight.

"Claire?"

Claire screamed and turned round, scrambling for the flashlight to shine its gaze behind her. The figure of a scrawny little girl looked at her shakily, the child's eyes stricken with horrors that they were far too young to see.

"...Sherry!" Claire gasped, the warm waters of relief washing over her.

Claire sat up and let the little girl run into her arms, squeezing her happily. She could feel Sherry's body quiver as she began to cry, suddenly talking so rampantly it seemed she couldn't stop:

"Claire! I'm scared! Sister Anna told us to hide in this big room! She lit all the candles and told the other kids to pray! But the bad men came! They were angry...they took Sister Anna away. She got mad too...and then they got mad at the other children and-"

"Shh," Claire said, pulling away from her embrace only to look into Sherry's bright blue eyes and stroke her hair protectively, "Baby it's okay now. I'm gonna take care of you and the bad men aren't going to get us."

Claire saw Sherry's worried eyes, those big blue diamonds still encompassed with tears. She quivered as she asked worriedly, "You promise?"

Claire did her best to smile, "With all my heart."

Sherry smiled a little too, and Claire was just so thankful she had gotten to her.

"Now," Claire said with a sigh, "We've got find-"

Suddenly a horrendous scream broke out from the benches of the chair, and Claire felt a massive body tackle her from the side. She heard Sherry's scream as she threw the figure away from her. It was a man, his decrepit flesh soaked in blood. His long hair and beard caked with crimson and torn flesh, his teeth rotting and falling from his liquid gums. Claire looked at his furious eyes, those white furious eyes. She could see death on him, and she realized who he was. He was the intruder, one of the men who had killed Sister Anna. He was one of the men who killed the children.

"Sherry! Run!" Claire yelled to the little girl, who sat curled up into a bawl in tears.

Sherry moved to do as told, and the man charged for her. He wasn't like the other people in the riot. He was fast, he was insane. Claire jumped to her feet and collided with the man hard, sending him into the rows of benches. Her shoulder hurt where she had hit him, it was like hitting a soggy brick wall. She looked at him, staring at her now through his strands of hair with that crooked, rotting face. That's when it hit her, through every movie and every horror novel she's ever seen. Zombies.

The man tried to stand but Claire grabbed the end of the one of the benches and rose it over his head. She brought the thick leg down upon his throat, decapitating him in a massive rupture of red and flesh. She turned to Sherry, breathing hard.

"See, sweetheart?" she gasped, realizing how much she was acting like Chris would have acted, "I'm here to take care of you."

She took Sherry's hand, the girl staring up at her in complete shock at what she had just done, and the two went for the basement of the church. Claire decided it was the best place until things cooled over. They'd head for the police station after that. It was then that Claire realized Sherry had spoken to her for the first time.

000

"There will be a time when anarchy shall walk the earth. Blood will run as rain does, and the screams of children shall be heard as the howls of the wind.

It will be a time when humanity is no longer humane, a time when justice is no longer just. It will be our Day of Reckoning.

May God have mercy on our pitiful souls."