IV

October 1, 1998

'Breaking news: U.S. announces that Raccoon City has been destroyed by a nuclear missile - More to come shortly.' Aleksandra re-read the yellow writing scrolling below the image of a smoking crater where the Midwest city once stood. Her throat closed up as she choked back tears. Her private school rarely used television except for educational programs, but the principal made a point to roll them in for this shocking story.

A small knock came from the wooden door and Mr. Melikov, the principal, emerged. He bowed his head politely and asked for Aleksandra. She didn't have to be told. She knew what he was going to say when she saw the words 'Raccoon City' scroll across the screen in Russian.

"Aleksandra," he said when they got into the hall, "I have terrible news. Your brother, Dmitri was in Raccoon City today. I'm afraid there are no survivors."

Aleksandra nodded solemnly and asked if she could be excused for the rest of the day. There was no need to ask for such a thing. He explained that Sascha was already in the office waiting for her. She held her chin up and walked through the silent halls as students whispered behind her about the horrid tragedy that fell upon her family. Sascha calmly signed her out and drove her to their home on the outskirts of Moscow.

Every now and then, she would sneak a glance at her older brother and try to imagine that the tear stains on his cheek were from the common cold and not the grief they were both feeling.

Sergei Smirnov was a man taught to feel nothing. No pain, no emotion. That was his job. But when he would come home to his family –Dmitri, Sascha, and Aleksandra, he was a completely different man. He would laugh when something was funny and become stern if his children misbehaved. But on this particular day, as Sascha pulled into the gravel drive, Aleksandra saw just how old her father had become. His head was cradled by a pair of worn hands that had seen the bloodiest parts of battle but were restless when it came to receiving that particular call from the American government.

Aleksandra calmly opened the car door. She let her bag fall to the gravel when her father's face came into view. His beady brown eyes were bloodshot, and his usual five o'clock shadow was now a full grown beard. This wasn't the former Spetsnaz operative that had served his country for over twenty five years. He stood from the porch's bottom step, staggered across the lawn, and stopped a few feet from her. This was a man who had just received news that his oldest son was dead. There was no body to bury and lay to rest. This was a father grieving without the chance to physically say goodbye.

"Come,solnyshka..."

Aleksandra sighed as she heard the term of endearment her father only used for her. Without a second's hesitance, she flung her body into the arms of the only man she felt protected her from the world.

And together, they mourned Dmitri.

Aleksandra rummaged for her dagger. Mustering what little energy she had left, she sat up and stabbed the Licker's tongue. The Licker howled in pain while blood and saliva oozed from its maniacal grin, and she couldn't help but smile back. From behind the monster, a crackling splat echoed along the rooftop, followed by the small buzz of the Phantom 8's arrowhead. The Licker fell to the ground as Leon came into view. A few feet to the left was the smaller Licker's stiff corpse. She pulled the arrow from the mess in the Licker's skull and cleaned it on John Strife's shirt. He wasn't very helpful during his time on earth; it was only fair that he was useful in this particular way.

"Aleksandra, we need to keep moving. The infected will learn how to get inside the warehouse and make their way up to us. I don't know about you, but I'd like to stay off their dinner menu tonight."

Aleksandra smiled and inquired as to how they were going to do that without attracting too much attention. Leon pointed to the building next door. It wasn't much lower than the warehouse, and the sloping slate roof seemed to welcome them.

She nodded to Leon and held her breath as he took a running start and made a leap of faith towards the roof. He landed against the slate with a small grunt and motioned for her to follow suit.

Aleksandra could do this. She knew she could. She was a member of the BSAA. Her father was a damn Spetsnaz, for crying out loud. But she could feel her knees shake from exhaustion. She filled her lungs and ran for it. The icy German air embraced her like a cold enemy as she fell towards the slate shingles. She made impact, and her fingernails desperately scratched at the roofing for some kind of opening for her to cling to. Her boots slipped and she instantly felt them slide from underneath. She could hear them fall to the cobblestone alley where dozens of infected had gathered to investigate the commotion they had caused earlier. The image of her body falling into such a horrible pit of death made her stomach turn. She tried her damnedest to cling to something, anything to keep her from meeting a horde of infected. She squeezed her eyes shut just as she felt Leon's bare hand slip past her glove and her wrist. He yanked her up until her body was crushed up against his, both their eyes glued to the pile of blue-grey debris below.

Leon's body was warm and solid underneath her hands. It was comforting to have another human being so close to her. She could even smell the remnants of his cheap aftershave. A smile crept as she inhaled the woodsy scent. It was so familiar and so far away from her at this point. She could feel Leon's breath rustling a few strands of hair, and for a moment she felt like she was back home.

"You seem like the type of woman that unknowingly breaks hearts."

Aleksandra gasped at his words and pulled away from Leon. He seemed unfazed by her abrupt halt.

"We need to find a place to rest," she whispered.

Leon nodded and turned towards the east. In the distance, the soft white light and the low rumble that accompanied modern warfare. They were getting closer to the uprising.

Departure from the roof was easy enough. Most of the infected that had been attracted by the noise stayed near the warehouse. Their decaying minds didn't seem to comprehend that the action had ceased, and even Aleksandra's mishap with the slate shingles didn't bring any large numbers to the house. Occasionally they would run into a lone corpse trying to get to the rest of the rotting crowd, but they were no challenge for Leon or Aleksandra.

It had been five days since Aleksandra lost her company to the Lickers, found Stella, and also, since she had last slept. Occasionally, she would find a secure spot and doze off for a few moments but the slightest rustle would wake her up. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to keep up with Leon, and it slighted her pride to think that she couldn't keep up with a man. They just passed an antiques shop when Aleksandra leaned against the brick wall.

"Leon, we need to stop." She watched his eyes scan over her face and could only imagine the dark circles under her eyes, or the exhausted pallor her cheeks had taken on. He pointed to a nearby hotel and Aleksandra had never felt more grateful.

Aleksandra combed through the linen closet at the end of the hall and found a wool blanket, still soft from its last washing. She inhaled the sweet smell of lilac and baby powder, and for a moment, could imagine herself in her own bed with the covers wrapped tightly around her in a comfortable cocoon. She offered the blanket to Leon who shook his head and said that he would take first watch. Aleksandra sighed and lay down with her back to the wall. Sleep came easily.

Dreams were a source of terror for her. There were nights where she imagined herself walking through Sascha's abandoned home. Age made the house creak and moan and caused the small hairs on her arm to stand on end. Shadows played mind games with her as branches danced against the windows. At the end of the hallway she would find Stella's bedroom door, her name displayed in glittery pink letters. A small rustle would make her hold her breath and squeeze the doorknob. Upon entering, she would finally see that she had come too late. Stella's mother is sitting, mangled, in the corner; her mouth agape with the horror she had to witness before her own death. In the middle of the room, squeezed in between a small teddy bear and a set of bloody footprints is Sascha. His features are twisted in a terrified grimace and his bright brown eyes are glazed over with a grey film and staring directly at Aleksandra. Crouched beside him is little Stella. Her shoulders move at an inconsistent pace, and Aleksandra can't tell if she's crying or shuddering from the gruesome sights around her. And then a flash of lightning fills the room and she sees the scene for what it really is: Stella's grey pallor, blood-crusted mouth, and the putrid bite mark on her arm. It all points to the movement Aleksandra had taken as remorse. Instead, her niece is feasting on her father's intestines; a foul buffet for the stomachs of the infected. Stella's sickly eyes fall on the beating heart standing in the doorway and she rises from her meal. In an instant, she's rushing towards her aunt, and Aleksandra raises her weapon and fires. Just then, the faces change, and suddenly Stella's brown eyes are blue, and her ragged mess of hair is a fiery red. This isn't Stella. She shot a child.

"She was infected, Al." She shot a child. The child crawled over her skin like a thousand ants.

"There was nothing you could do to prevent this." She shot a child.

Aleksandra stirred from her sleep as the first rays of morning seeped into the small lobby. Leon was still sitting beside her, his head resting against his chest. His hair made a thick curtain between his eyes and the outside world, and Aleksandra feared that at some point, he had been bitten. She reached for her pistol and put some distance between his body and her own.

"Leon…?"The quiver in her voice gave way to the fear she was feeling. She didn't want to be alone, not now. She raised her voice a little more the second time and waited for any signs of infection. He stirred slowly, and jumped back when he saw the barrel of her pistol pointed in his face.

"Son of a – watch where you're pointing that thing!"

She exhaled and returned her pistol to its holster. Old Coke bottles and copper pans littered the only two doorways in the lobby. He must have dozed off during the night with the assurance of Aleksandra's makeshift alarm. She folded the blanket even though there was no one to mind the mess; habit, she supposed. Leon stood, stretched and seemed to crack every bone in his body until every muscle moved in a fluid motion. His eyes were focused on the few rays of sun that crept through the gloomy sky, and Aleksandra seized the opportunity to share the sight with him.

"What are we going to do now?" Her question was honest. Her mission had long been abandoned. And now Stella was safe at a containment base with fellow BSAA. So who was there left to save? She already knew the answer to that. Leon sighed beside her as the sunlight disappeared behind the dark clouds.

"Our priority is to get to the containment base and make contact with Headquarters," Leon said.

Aleksandra recalled the lights and smoke from last night. The containment base was just a ways from the action, and Leon was now saying they had to go through it.

"Leon, there's a war breaking out and you want to charge right through the middle of it..," she asked.

He finally turned to her, the usually stoic façade fading to reveal the depth of worry on his face.

"The fighting will give us some cover. Most of the infected will be attracted to the commotion."

Aleksandra opened her mouth to protest, but Leon frowned and added. "You have a better suggestion?"

She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. As of right now, no, she didn't have a better plan.