Chapter 6

Oh man there is no fuckin' way.

Joseph Frost sucked in a bout of the warm, stale air as he pressed his back up against the wall of a long hallway on the second floor of the west wing of the Raccoon City Police Department. His sweat-soaked, AC DC shirt stuck to his scrawny back and loose shoulders. His pale eyes darted sporadically to still objects about him: stains on the floor, fingernail scratches along the wall, red handprints, a flickering light overhead, his left shoe.

Joseph had barely escaped the apartment complex let alone Trask district. Once he had reached the chaotic charade occurring outside he was able to fight his way through the mass hysteria of the dead, the living, and the liminal that strayed in between the two forms. He had known, or at least assumed, that the police station would be the logical place to run for. Unbeknownst to him, everyone and their fucking mothers had the same fucking idea.

He arrived at the police station wounded (a man had mistaken Joseph's somewhat homely appearance for the walking dead and took a stab at him with a screw driver) and utterly spent on his shotgun shells for the sawed off Remington, only to find that hordes of the same pandemonium was festering inside the walls of his once beloved workplace. Furious, Joseph decided it was best to wait it out in the sewers for a couple of days.

Jesus, the sewers. Why, oh why, did he choose the sewers? The very thought of the slithering, dank, horrific grime that he cut his way through made him shiver. It was by the skin of his teeth that he was able to survive down there as long as he did, which was only one goddamn day. That day happened to be, so far, the worst time of his life. It topped the day of the city's hostile take over, the night of the city's hostile take over, the night at the mansion, the night he found out he had contracted crabs from that sorority girl and Leon scolded him for hours on end.

Dammit, Joseph had to make himself focus. Keep in the here, keep in the fucking now. Don't let the mind wander. He pressed himself off of the wall at his back and faced the partially ajar door that stood along the other wall of this hallway. He knew he had heard their forsaken fucking groans in here, even though he'd swept the entire west wing's second level at least half a dozen times. They must have figured out how to climb stairs…dammit. They were coming in from the first floor, he knew it. But hell no, he didn't dare go down to the first floor on any section of the police station. He could secure the second floor, the parts of the third floor that weren't completely blockaded off, but not the first floor. It was…well…the insatiable dead that lurked along the first floor seemed to be infinite.

Slamming his foot through the door, Joseph made an incredibly awkward roll into what he knew to be one of the break rooms. Waving the Remington about like a frantic madman, Joseph came to his knees and look around. Thankfully he had been able to get to the S.T.A.R.S. weapons locker and find a spare box of shotgun shells. His baby was given fuel again. Oh…shit.

The upper torso of a zombie, suddenly aware of his exuberant presence (though what with all of Joseph's banging and commotion, who wouldn't be?), turned on his belly and began to drag itself towards him. A thin, sheet of blood was left behind it as its entrails and shredded flesh dragged along the floor, sounding out like a wet shoe across tiles. Joseph recognized him instantly. Teabag Tayler. This fucking hot shot drove a supped up Camaro, always had on aviators and always had his flat top spiked perfectly in a matter that defied gravity. It was the same fucker that always gave Leon a hard time for being a rookie cop on the S.T.A.R.S., though in reality it was only because Tayler hadn't made it and was jealous.

Joseph smiled at the fucker, watching him whine in that deep, guttural plea as he came crawling towards Joseph's boots. Good ol' Teabag Tayler. That was a nickname that Leon and Joseph had thought up. Joseph was always joking around about how Tayler was actually a flaming homosexual who had a ritual of going to the clubs to get smashed and let other flaming homosexuals lay their balls right under his nose and their assholes right on his mouth. This process was called "Teabagging," and ol' Teabag Tayler hated him and Leon for that. Come to think of it, Joseph didn't even know Tayler's first name.

A mighty grin on his face, Joseph pumped Tayler's withered, rotting face with a blast from his boomstick. He watched as the upper torso, now partially headless as well as legless, fell in a splattering heap upon the floor. He waited until the obnoxious twitching stopped, then he checked the shirt pockets. He pulled out an I.D. badge and read aloud, "Johnson? Johnson Tayler?"

The referral to forbidden male anatomy was scarce but it was there, and allowed Joseph a much needed laugh, "Damn, Teabag, no wonder you never told us your name."

Joseph tossed the I.D. badge and made his way to the vending machines, the glass shattered by him at a previous time. He snatched up some cheap brand of chips and felt the stale, crunch inside the bag. He hopped up on the counter and enjoyed the meal, taking in the surrounding scenery of his break room gone horribly wrong. He used to sneak smokes in here back when he was a member of the elite S.T.A.R.S. If ever Chris, Barry, or even Wesker caught him they'd give him holy hell for it too.

Unfortunately, as fate would have it, Joseph was out of cigarettes. He'd gone through all of them during his one day in the sewers. The stress was nerve-wrecking. And not to mention the beer, Oh God all that beer he had stocked up on in his and Leon 's apartment. Why, God…why did he forget the beer? It sounds stupid but, Jesus, he wanted just one cold, foamy brewskie. This made him think of one other thing he missed, and one thing he missed and worried about the most. His best bud: Leon .

Joseph had tried to wake Leon up. How the hell can someone sleep through an apocalypse? Leon had been acting so strange, and come to think of it, Leon hadn't really been normal since he got out of the hospital after the incident at the mansion. He was always keeping to himself, locking himself up in his room, always sleeping. And the sleeping, God damn Joseph would wake up nearly every night to hear Leon screaming amidst the cold waters of his dreams.

Joseph had a theory that something happened to Leon when Wesker had gotten a hold of him during the incident. Or maybe it was during the moment when Leon claimed he killed Wesker. Either way, something wasn't right, and Leon seemed to only be getting worse. It was like he was…no. No, no fucking way. Leon couldn't have been infected, he's been alive for far too long at this point. That is…if he's still alive – all right stop it!

Joseph had to keep his head in the game; taking care of himself was priority number one. If there were others alive here, if Leon was alive here, it'd be different. Joseph would be determined to look after them, it was his shitty but self-acclaimed duty. However, seeing as how there was no one alive any longer, he just had to take care of his own ass. And the only way to do that was to keep his head on survival, not to think about other crap.

Joseph let out a loud sneeze and wiped his nose, trying to decide on his next choice of operations, but something made him stop. He held his breath and listened, the hairs on his back rising as his nostrils were still tingling from the sneeze. He heard something, much like a giggle or a quick squeak. Not like a little girl's squeals when she is given her most dearly wanted gift for Christmas, but…like a grown man trying to stifle an explosion on the brink of sanity. Now, only the hum of the vending machines' inner workings droned on.

Joseph stood, holding his gun close to his gut as though he were trying to hide from the evil. The break room around him suddenly seemed very small, and the tingling on his nose turned to an itchy feeling as sweat dribbled down from his bandana to the tip above his nostrils. He breathed in utter silence, listening.

Again, the warped, flattened squeak. A short burst of a titillated giggle. Somehow it knew Joseph was there, somehow it knew he was there and it knew he was afraid. It just had to wait.

Joseph, without making a sound, rose one hand from the gun and flicked the bead of sweat away from his nose.

The moment was opportune.

The wall to Joseph's left erupted in an explosion of the white dust and debris dry-wall, a frenzied demon leaping through with a maniacal grin upon which hung strands of flesh and locks of matted, red-soaked hair. The wild, beady eyes of a crimson head wound about in cyclical motions at Joseph as its bloody arms tore through the wall. It went through the fucking wall. Joseph couldn't tell if it was laughing or screaming as it tackled him, he only spun the barrel of the shotgun about and blasted a good hole into its gut.

But this fucker was big, and it didn't even falter in motion as it grabbed him. Joseph could practically feel the air as it reached down into his lungs and pulled the breath back out through his mouth and nose. He hit the floor and coughed as the crimson head began to wallop him over and over again. It thrashed and quivered terribly as it struck at him, bearing through his forearms that he held up in a measly defense. Every time his hand moved to pump the shell out of the shotgun he was struck that much harder. The pain scraped deeper and deeper each time, deeper and deeper into his tolerance. He began at last to scream as the flesh was torn wide open, and the crimson stopped and rose above him. It was at this time that Joseph got a good look at his attacker.

Oh Fuck it was Gary the Inmate.

Gary the inmate was a drunkard and a natural bar fighter. He was always in and out of jail because of improper behavior at the local pubs. It was like staring up along the legs of a behemoth as the long-haired, tattooed man-turned-monster growled back at Joseph. Joseph had always given the alcoholic brawler shit for being such a failure at life, what with being in jail every night and never knowing when to quit. It was now that Joseph could almost see the hate in the crimson head's eyes. Gary had been turned, and had been forced to evolve into ragilistic monster; but was part of that monster still Gary the Inmate? Could he recall all the times Joseph had given him shit? No way. Joseph knew it had to be impossible.

Then Gary smiled at him.

No Fucking way.

The demon reached down with its massive arms, picking him up by his shirt. Joseph, trembling, tried to pump his shotgun, but he couldn't even clutch it hard enough. He was barely able to hold on to it as Gary the Inmate hoisted Joseph up over his wet, matted skull.

"Oh fuck no," Joseph pleaded.

But it was too late, and Gary sent Joseph through the wall. He felt the sharp crack of dry wall, the explosion of dust as he was sent through the wall between the beams of wood that still splintered upon the impact. Then he was in the air, falling. Then, for a second, it was nothing but air as Joseph found himself in the hallway outside. He collapsed amidst the debris on the floor and lay there, still clinging to his unpumped shotgun.

It then occurred to him that he was not alone in this hall, and looked up to see two figures. The figure of a young girl holding the hand of another figure: a beautiful and familiar young woman in red leather jacket.

It was then that Gary the Inmate burst through the remnants of the wall and howled upon his warpath.

000

Claire clutched tightly to Sherry's hand as they wandered the destitute halls of the Raccoon City Police Department. It was a dim setting of old furnished wood and brick. The smell of office work and must seemed to mingle well with that ever-forceful stench of death and rotten chemicals. Sherry huddled close to Claire's side as they walked warily through the old building. In Claire's other hand she clutched Smith and Wesson Revolver Magnum, it's hot barrel still smoking from the emission of it's last three shells used to take down a couple of the walking dead. They had tried to mangle Sherry when Claire was looking over some computer files at the reception desk in the main hall of the department.

They had entered the police department via a sewer's passage way. Claire had recalled her brother's constantly telling her of the underground passageways that led to all sorts of places beneath Raccoon City. Places that even the government didn't know about. At this in time, Claire was ready to believe everything, and so she had taken Sherry through the sewers without question. Thus, she arrived from the orphanage to the darkened, blood-stained halls of the Police Department. She had hoped it would be safe. She was wrong. It was, however, vast. This provided the two of them enough distance to run.

Once they had arrived in the main hall of the Police Department, Claire had picked up the revolving magnum from what she had assumed to be two dead police officers. They had been…thoroughly devoured. She then proceeded to look through the computer files for any notifications or anything. Any way she and Sherry could escape. Even, with hope, some information regarding the mysterious death of her brother Chris. But nothing useful was found other than she was able to unlock most of the doors electronically.

Unfortunately, the corpses turned out to be closer to life than Claire had originally assumed. They had attacked Sherry, who was aimlessly wandering the main room. Claire was able to finish them off, but Sherry had been terrified and now was refusing to remove herself from Claire's hand. That was all right with Claire.

Now the two traversed throughout the Police Department. So far, there had been no other interactions with danger. Such tranquility, however, in a swiftly prospering necropolis, was a temporary setting. Their own placidity was brought to a halt when they heard, in some distant hallway of the massive police department, a resounding crash. The two froze and Claire immediately tucked the little Sherry away behind a plan that stood in the corner of the hallway. They had entered into an L shaped corridor, the longer part stretching off towards two doors on either side, the shorter neck leading to a flight of stairs that led to a balcony above them. Claire knew that the balcony led S.T.A.R.S. office, and she had been secretly hoping to find some information on any of the S.T.A.R.S. members.

The entire time that the chaos had ensued throughout the streets of Raccoon City, Claire had been secretly convinced of all the stories that her fallen brother's comrades had brought back with them. Zombies, monsters, biological warfare, it was all becoming horrifically clear or at least horrifically similar. However, her racing mind was cut short by yet another tremendous crash in the distance, this one fired by gunshots. Gunshots began to punctuate her breaths and gasps as she squeezed the revolving magnum's wooden handle.

There was a brief moment of silence, which seemed to linger on for a few terribly long minutes. Claire looked at Sherry, the beautiful little girl's bright emerald eyes staring back at her, their surface soaked in tears and the skin around them pink from crying hard. Looking at Sherry's mesmerizing eyes, Claire suddenly felt taken in by how unnaturally beautiful they were. They just seemed so-

Suddenly, from above, the entire balcony seemed to erupt into splinters of wood and dry-wall debris as two figures came sailing in, roaring with screams and shotguns blasts. Claire recognized the screams as belonging to one of the fast-moving flesh eaters she had encountered before. She was barely able to glimpse the two entangled figures for a second, as the inclination in her intuition was tugging at her to leap before Sherry and protect her.

Sliding through the falling debris, she shielded Sherry from the oncoming figures that tangled violently with each other in the air. They landed with a shuddering slam into the wood floor, the flash and sound of one last gun shot resonating throughout the hall. Dust and debris clouded the air, and Claire found herself desperately moving to protect Sherry and aiming the revolver at the same time. The revolver quivered in her grip. For a moment they hung suspended in uncertainty, as once more the silence kept them. Then the dust began to settle, and Claire glimpsed some of the debris moving as one of the figures attempted to rise.

"Don't move! I've got a gun!" she screamed, forcing authority into her voice.

The figure raised its hands, "Relax, lady. I killed it."

Icy cold relief splashed over Claire and the weight of the gun forced her to drop it as she exclaimed, "Joseph Frost?!"

The tall, wiry figure of the goofy-grinned man turned to face her, dust covering him from head to toe. His legendary bandana was torn and skewed awkwardly atop his head, and his grin was faded and fatigued but still there.

"Claire Bean!" he said, "Holy fuck, you're alive!"

He approached her, picking up his shotgun and her revolver as he did. Claire noticed a series of cuts and bruises as well as bloody bandages randomly placed along the ragtag remains of his body. Handing her the revolver he spoke first, "Shitting Jesus…of all the people I thought I'd ever see again, you were low on the list! I thought for sure, by now, I was all alone in this shithole."

"I know, me too," she replied in surprise that he could converse so easily after what had just happened, "We came here because it seemed the most logical place to go and…uh…"

She trailed off as she watched him rip out several large splinters of wood that had been sunken into his skin because of the tussle. As he did he spoke, "Anywho, yea seems like everyone else in the city thought so too, only problem is it seemed like they all turned to the walking fucking dead halfway here. Wait-…what do you mean 'we'?"

Claire turned to Sherry who still remained hidden behind the bush, "Sweetie, it's okay. This is a friend of mine. He's not a bad guy."

Joseph's eyes widened as he saw the little girl shakily peer out from behind the bush and then run to clutch Claire's thigh in a rather cliché manner. Claire, high off of her maternal instincts, brushed away little bits of debris that had fallen into the little girl's beautiful golden hair.

"You-...Holy fucking shit, Claire! You brought a little girl with you?!" Joseph exclaimed pointing at the child.

Claire immediately punched him hard in the shoulder and he howled in pain at the surprising force behind it.

"Don't swear in front of her! And yes!-"

"You punched me! Jesus Christ Claire that-OW!! You just hit me again! Why?!"

"You swore again!"

"Jesus Christ is not a swear-OW!! Dammit, Claire quit-OW!…okay that last one was deserved."

"Anyways, this is Sherry Birkin, she lived at the orphanage where I worked…" Claire explained their story to Joseph as they made their way through the halls of the Department's west wing.

Once safely inside the cluttered office of the S.T.A.R.S. members, Joseph collapsed back in what used to be his chair at what used to be his desk. Now it belonged to some fuck named Frank.

"There's sodas and uh...I think luncheables inside that mini-fridge," he said with a nod as he eyed the little girl still clutching Claire's leg.

Claire sighed and ran her fingers through sherry's strawberry-blonde hair, "Sweetie, are you hungry?"

Sherry, staring right back at Joseph, merely shook her head.

"She doesn't say much does she?" Joseph said as he rummaged through the desk, looking for items to thieve.

"Would you be talkative if you went through a traumatic experience like thi-..."

Joseph merely looked at her in arrogant annoyance.

"Oh, right. You already have," she smiled as she brought Sherry over to the refrigerator, making their way around the many filing cabinets and scattered papers, "Why is this place so trashed?"

"I came in here as soon as I reached the police department," Joseph leaned back and threw his boot-encased feet up on the desk, "I was searching for evidence that would link the Police Chief Irons to the incident at the mansion."

"You're still the conspirator I've always known you to be..."

"Hey, the guy was in on it. I know it—he is on the payroll of Umbrella Corp. That's why he fired every surviving S.T.A.R.S. member as soon as we came back. And these new 'more elite' S.T.A.R.S. members he's got replacing us? They're fishy too. Something tells me they're part of some secret army Umbrella's building."

Poking a straw in a juicebox to go along with a stale meal of crackers, cheese, and turkey for Sherry, Claire looked at Joseph with reaffirmed amusement.

"Joseph," she spoke, "Let's not talk about this. Now's not the time."

"Yea, all right," Joseph spoke slowly, making a monumental effort to dilute his words of all the passionate swearing, "Look, I've been here since for three days, and I think there might be a way out."

"Great, where?"

"It's through the sewers."

Claire collapsed in a chair near Joseph and slumped down on the desk, "Great...not too keen on the sewers."

Playing with his shotgun, he responded, "It's better than the streets. There's a weapons room in the lower levels, we can hit it up as we make our way down to the basement. Once there I can send you and the kid on your merry way."

She looked appalled, almost horrified that the newly found companion would so soon hint at leaving them, "You're not coming with? Why not?"

"I...uh..." he laid the shotgun down on the desk and kept his eyes fixated on it as he spoke solemnly, "I'm waiting for a buddy of mine. I told him to meet here when the attack first happened and I've sorta been hanging out here ever since."

"Oh..." Claire looked at Sherry, then around the room until her azure eyes reached the S.T.A.R.S. mural on the wall, "Was it Leon?"

"Is. Is it Leon, not was. And yea," suddenly he looked up at her and scrunched up his face in inquiry, "How did you know?"

It was Claire's turn to look somewhat solemn. Ever since Leon had stood her up on their date she had been in a huff about it. What a complete jerk; but now she felt somewhat sympathetic for both Joseph and Leon. No one, not even a really hot jerk, deserves to be caught up in this necropolis. And his friend didn't deserve this torment.

"Joseph," Claire spoke softly, "Do you really think Leon would want you waiting for him like this-"

"Stop right the fu-…er...uh stop right there. Don't tell me that Leon would want me to leave, because back in the mansion three months ago I wanted him to leave me behind too. But he didn't, he came back and saved my ass. Uh…sorry..I mean butt. Anyways, I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him. So I'm waiting right here in the police department until he comes. No questions asked."

Claire only sighed and watched as Sherry stepped quietly past her and up to Joseph. It was strange, but Sherry seemed to have shed her infamous fear of adult males, as well as strangers. The little girl looked up at Joseph with her beautiful, inquisitive eyes.

"What do you want, kiddo?" Joseph asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"If he came back for you why don't you go out there and look for him?" she suddenly asked, her tiny voice sounding innocently interrogative towards Joseph.

Claire watched half amused and half sympathetic as Joseph's eyes widened a little before he spoke, "Kiddo…have you seen what's outside? And I don't mean the dead people…I mean the monsters."

Again to Claire's surprise, Sherry nodded. It was strange to see the little girl so suddenly full of confidence.

"I bet you have," Joseph continued, unsurprisingly poor in dialogue with a child, "You know I've already been through that nightmare once. I spent a day and a night out there, and I can't even count how many times I wanted to scream. I'm waiting here now, and in my book that's brave enough. So don't you question me-"

"Joseph stop, you're scaring her," Claire interjected firmly.

"She needs to be scared, Claire. We all do," Joseph replied, and Claire could see the building, quivering fear in his eyes. He looked sick in the head.

However, before she could respond or even consider taking Sherry away from him, the door to the S.T.A.R.S. flew open and Sherry screamed.