Chapter Two: All Dead, All Dead


"Anybody here?!" Claire called, her voice echoing through the large hall of the station.

The echo of her voice faded, consumed by the all-encompassing silence. The silence of the dead.

She took a few hesitant steps further into the hall, her boots squelching slightly atop the linoleum steps and tiles. The college girl's eyes briefly glanced towards the towering marble statue of a blindfolded woman in robes, a spear covered in cloth in her hands, before looking away. Her gaze then fell on the front desk, and the various large medical supply boxes. She did this mostly to avoid lingering on the bloodstained footprints that almost completely covered the floor beneath her.

She spotted the doorway that led to the waiting room on the west side, but it was barred off by a steel shutter, and the box with the over-sized switch to raise it up was wrapped almost completely in yellow electric tape, preventing anyone from setting it back up to open the doorway. Looking away from the shutter, Claire made her way towards the front desk, minding a pile of spilled folders and paperwork as she did. Moving around so she stood opposite the desk, the woman's grey-blue eyes scanned from the table covered in boxes filled with more paperwork, a large stereo radio and a small electronic fan, to a large empty chest. Then she looked over to a second, smaller table, where a compact laptop computer lay open, the screen background a faint orange-red, the R.P.D. logo hovering in empty digital space.

Moving in front of the computer, Claire pressed a random key on the small keyboard, trying to recall what little she knew of computers. She was going to take a computer learning course next semester, which seemed so far off now that she was seemingly trapped in this waking nightmare that Raccoon City had become. The monitor hummed for a moment, and then the red R.P.D. screen went away, replaced by a green screen filled with folder icons.

Before she touched anything else, Claire's eyes widened when a large video box suddenly pulled up. Blinking, she stared at the new screens before seeing the words 'CCTV Control Service' at the top of the box icon. She stared for another moment in confusion, before realization struck her.

Surveillance cameras, she realized, unable to believe her luck.

Whoever had been on the computer previously must have been observing various parts of the station. They never closed it out, and just by touching a single key, Claire could now try to find anyone still in the station if they passed by one of the cameras. It wasn't as good as actually running into other survivors, but after surviving too many near-death experiences on her way here, she'd take what she could get.

Each icon displayed a different corridor within the station itself, and nothing else, not a single living - or unliving - soul in sight.

"Come on, Chris, where are you?" she asked herself aloud, pleading with whatever higher power willing to listen that she would miraculously see her brother alive and well in one of these cameras.

She knew the R.P.D. had at least 50 or 60 officers, not counting the unit her brother was part of. And if there were other survivors gathering here, along with emergency medical responders, the entire station should have been active.

So where the hell was everybody?

A sudden series of flashes, accompanied by several *pops* caught the young woman's attention, drawing her eyes to the lower right-hand screen. She caught a flash of movement that quickly darted past the camera's view-

-Claire's eyes widened in terror when she saw a figure lurch from around the corner, their arms outstretched as they slowly shambled after whatever had just run by the camera's lens.

"Oh shit... They're inside, too..." she whispered aloud.

Tony had been right. The station was far from the haven she had been hoping for.

The video feed switched again, this time showing something the young woman had been desperate for since arriving: another living person. Even through the muted gray and green coloring of the video feed, she recognized he was wearing the standard blue uniform of an R.P.D. officer. The male cop's view darted from off-camera to looking directly at it, his voice calling through and filtering out from the laptop's speakers. It was crackly, but firm and clear.

"David! Marvin! You there?!"

The officer stopped speaking for a split-second, his left holding a small flashlight out while his empty right was reaching into a back pocket on his pants, before holding something small up to the camera, his expression excited and jittery.

"I found a way out! It's in here!" he ecstatically proclaimed.

Claire stared at the officer, bewildered by his words. But before she could try to focus on whatever he was holding, his hand dropped, and his head snapped back to look forward as the zombie shambled closer. Moving almost too fast to follow, the male cop slipped the item back into his pants' pocket, and whipped out his sidearm, firing twice, two more *pops* issuing accompanied by blinding flashes.

The ghoul flinched, seemingly doubling over in pain as the bullets struck it in the gut, but suddenly lunged out for the officer, who shoved the corpse back with a strong push. The ghoul stumbled back several steps, the cop's flashlight skidding across the floor behind it.

With one last desperate look at the camera, the man screamed frantically, "Send reinforcements! East Hallway!" Then he dashed off screen, the zombie lumbering after him, dark droplets of blood running down its shot abdomen.

Claire blinked, dragging her finger quickly over the mouse pad, and clicked the map folder on the screen. A basic blueprint of the station's first floor showed her that she stood in the Main Hall, while the East Hallway was only a few rooms away, past an office and through a Watchman's Room.

"I've gotta help him," she whispered aloud.

There weren't any police officers left alive, at least as far as she could see. Whoever 'David' and 'Marvin' were, they weren't around to help. So it was up to her.

Inhaling a heavy breath, the younger Redfield stepped back from the laptop, her right hand reaching down to grip the handle of her holstered revolver, trying to draw the reassurance from it that the weapon normally offered. All she could feel was the sudden trepidation nestling in her pounding heart. Releasing the breath she had taken slowly through her nose, the young woman turned around, and started away from the desk, her boots falling heavily, though her steps failed to produce much sound in the eerily quiet hall.

As the girl passed by the boxes of medical supplies, she stopped, glancing back at them, her grey-blue eyes spotting a small black flashlight laying by a first-aid kit. Reaching out, she picked it up, flicking the power button on it, and smiling faintly when a bright beam ignited.

Switching it back off, she slipped the item into her pocket, murmuring, "Never know when this'll come in handy."

Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, a voice whispered in the back of her head.

"Not if you're already in a situation that's beyond insane," she countered back, walking up the steps back towards the front doors of the station, turning right to face the way to the east wing of the station-

-before stopping dead in her tracks.

Another steel shutter was lowered, only partially, however, blocking off the path to the East Wing. A piece of cardboard was taped just above the painted white letters of the R.P.D., two words drawn in black marker, with one very clear warning.

KEEP OUT.

Glancing down to where the shutter had failed to completely lower, Claire had a very good idea why such a warning was there.

A rather large puddle of dark blood had leaked through the opening.

Fighting the urge to step back, the woman silently gauged her options, her eyes unable to look away from the puddle of blood.

Okay... The station's definitely not safe outside of this hall, and trying to help that guy might get us both killed, the rational, if no longer calm part of her mind argued.

Swallowing, Claire forced herself to look away from all the blood, locking her eyes onto the large flip switch for the shutter instead. Focusing on it, she managed to ease closer towards the switch, her footfalls nearly as silent as a cat's.

He said he found a way out... If the station isn't safe, leaving through the front door is basically suicide. If there's another way out, I need to know where it is. And I can't leave yet, anyway...

"Not until I find Chris," the young woman whispered to herself, her voice surprisingly strong despite the mounting dread piling in her pounding heart.

Inhaling slowly, ignoring the metallic, coppery scent of blood overpowering the ever-present stench of rot that tainted the air, Claire reached out, grasping the switch with one hand. With nary a grunt, she pulled the heavy lever down. An electronic beep issued, followed by the grind of machinery as the steel door began to raise off the floor-

-before promptly stopping, barely a foot off the ground.

The girl sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Some kind of failure. Whether it was a power issue or mechanical one, she knew jack-all, and didn't have time to try to find the issue. With a wince of disgust, she moved next to the steel shutter, and eased down to her knees, a strange combination of relief and revulsion hitting her when she felt the blood was mostly dry, and only a little bit sticky.

"Great..." she muttered to herself.

Bending her head down while reaching for her flashlight, Claire flicked the light on, and gazed under the partial opening of the shutter. More blood. A lot more. The puddle was huge, with splatters lining the wall behind a dead potted plant.

Lowering herself onto the floor completely, doing her best to ignore the disgusting sensation of drying blood, the younger Redfield pulled herself halfway through the opening, sweeping her flashlight out around the corner, gazing down the steps that led directly into the East Side's first hallway. Her light barely pierced through the heavy darkness, but it offered just enough to let her see ahead. Unfortunately, there was still no sign of that cop.

"Where are you...?" she asked herself aloud, mostly to focus on anything else other than the blood, darkness, and the heavy silence that somehow made it all the more terrifying.

Pulling her waist out from under the shutter, Claire rose back onto her feet, sweeping the light all around the East Wing hall she now stood completely in. Spotting a glowing green light by a row of payphones on the wall to her immediate left, just past a set of steps, she made her way forward, keeping the beam of her flashlight on the small glowing green dot, easing down the steps slowly and carefully, not wanting to risk tripping or injuring herself anymore than she already was just getting to the station. When she neared the glowing light, the young woman realized it was a fuse box, with only one fuse inside, the other missing.

"Well, I guess that explains the shutter..." she whispered to herself.

The missing fuse was probably the reason the hallway was pitch-black as well. And though a part of her was curious over its removal, she focused back to the task at hand: finding the officer.

Half-heartedly, she reached out for one of the payphones, pulling the phone to her ear. As she suspected, dead silence. Sighing, she placed the receiver back on its hook, and stepped down onto the floor.

When her boot made a soft *splash,* Claire flinched, snapping her head down along with her flashlight's beam. The clear liquid reflected the light somewhat, and the young woman allowed herself a sigh of relief. She now noticed the faint smell of chlorine in the air, which was thankfully somewhat overpowering the smell of blood and rot. Though she was curious as to why the floor was flooded, she was just grateful it wasn't more blood. Raising her head back up, flashlight following, she started down the small hallway.

Redfield passed a table overflowing with more boxes of files, and miscellaneous other items, her flashlight trailing over it, pausing as she took notice of the dozens of missing persons posters plastered all over the wall. Frowning, the young college girl turned away, noticing a set of double doors that led into the large office she had seen on the computer map of the station. She hadn't looked over the map's guide of the East Wing, but if she remembered right, cutting through this office was the fastest way to the Watchman's Room, where the officer would be.

Stepping closer to the doors, her boots splashing gently with each step, Claire reached for one of the knobs with her free hand. Grasping and turning it, she attempted to push it open, only for the door to refuse to budge. Frowning, she tried again, but the door refused to give. The young woman tried the other handle, but was met with the same result. With a frustrated sigh, Claire gave the doors a look over, realizing something behind them was probably barring them, which probably meant there was a very good reason why they were blocked off...

"Long way it is, then..." she concluded, her right hand reaching for her holstered .38.

Drawing the revolver and leveling it out in front of herself, her left hand that held the flashlight crossing over her right, the college student began down the corridor again, trying to keep her boots from making too loud a splash as she moved further ahead.

Arriving at a junction which was equally flooded as the corridor, Claire saw a few vending machines and another potted plant, this one still looking a little livelier than the first. She spotted another corridor ahead to her right, past a door that was boarded off. Turning towards the hallway, the girl started ahead-

-a loud *THUMP,* followed by an ominously muffled *BANG,* almost made the young college student scream, her head snapping towards the direction of the sound, her revolver following suit. Her eyes and the barrel of her gun were locked on the blocked off door, which was where she had for sure heard the sounds. Nothing happened for several seconds, no further strange noises emanating from behind the door.

Claire wanted to turn away, to lower her gun and keep going, but she remained frozen on the spot, revolver still aimed out at the door, and whatever was behind it.

The sooner you find that cop, the sooner you can get the hell out of here, and away from whatever is in there, okay?

The rational part of her mind sounded a lot more confident than she felt, but those reassurances were enough to get the young redhead to look away from the door, and start moving down the corridor once again. With one last wary glance from the corner of her eye, Claire continued forward, the soft splashing of her boots the only sound in the seemingly empty hall.

"Focus, Claire... Focus..." she gently whispered to herself.

Find the cop, the only other survivor in the building as far as she knew, and she'd be a step closer to getting out of this nightmare. Walking past a bulletin board, Claire came across another set of double doors, the wooden frames lined with small holes, with pinprick beams of light emerging through them.

Frowning, she moved towards them, holstering her revolver, and pushing at one of them, finding the door unlocked and unobstructed. Forcing it open, the woman peeked into the new room. Surprisingly, the lights were still working inside, and she saw it was a large auditorium-like room, one she recognized as the kind the police often used to make statements to the media, with various microphones, tables, camera equipment, and a podium all present...

Along with a conspicuously lone body laying directly in front of the podium in a pool of dried blood.

Not even pretending to bother, Claire eased the door shut, wishing she had something to tie the handles with in case that corpse decided to get up later. But for now, the wooden doors would have to do. Facing the hall again, the young woman saw her path was obstructed by an overturned locker with more yellow electrical tape wrapped around it against a metal rack of shelves.

She hesitated a moment, chewing on her lip in indecision. It was fairly obvious at this point why this wing had been sealed off, and she was very reluctant to remove anything that may let potential flesh-eaters venture further...

But she had to press on, and the longer she waited, the more danger that officer was potentially in. And if he was dead when she found him, she may never find a safe way out of the station, or worse, find out if Chris was even still alive. Steeling herself and squaring her shoulders, she moved forward.

Grasping the heavy locker with both arms, the young woman grit her jaw, and pushed against the strong steel, slowly pushing it upright.

"Really wish... Tony was here... to do this instead!" she grunted out between heaves.

For a moment, fresh terror spiked through her heart as she imagined him, lost in Raccoon's burning streets, the undead hot on the tails of his coat.

He's fine... He said he'd find his way here. He's probably just cracking more stupid one-liners while running for his life...

The thought of his cocky grin and arrogant attitude brought a smile to her straining face. With one last shove and a loud grunt, Claire successfully pushed the locker upright against the wall with a soft *clang* of metal against plaster. Panting softly, she rubbed her aching shoulder, wincing slightly. Moving a heavy object after slamming into a car from the force of an explosion probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but aside from some fresh soreness, she'd live...

Unwilling to dwell on that particular thought any longer, the girl started forward again, her boots no longer splashing, and she noticed the floor had a slight incline and an open pathway to her left. Giving it a quick glance, she saw another makeshift barricade, this one composed of dozens of chairs, desks, and other pieces of furniture, along with a bathroom, a whiteboard sign situated next to it with the words 'Cleaning In Progress' written on it. Gingerly, Claire gave the water flooding the floor another look.

"Please be from an overflowing sink..." she whispered to herself, idly wondering what she found more disgusting: dirty water from a toilet, or blood.

Turning away from the left side passage, Claire made her way towards the upper right corridor... and quickly found her answer.

"Ugh, oh my god..." she murmured aloud in disgust.

Several bodies were collapsed along the corner just under the lone window, shattered glass littering the massive pools, and splashes of blood all over the floor and wall. The window was barred off with several sturdy-looking planks of wood wrapped in yellow police tape, fresh rainwater drizzling in.

As Claire approached further, she saw that the light over the Watchman's Office was still on, illuminating the body of a dead officer in blue next to another door on the far wall just adjourning the office, with a hat atop his lowered head, obscuring his face. Looking away from the carnage, fighting down her rising gorge at the fresh, overwhelming smell of slaughter, Redfield saw another door to her right, but didn't even think of trying to open it when she saw the heavy chain and lock wrapped around the handle.

The East Wing's large office was decisively off-limits, it seemed.

Before she could give it another thought, a loud, desperate voice interrupted her thoughts and caught her immediate attention. "OPEN UP! HURRY! OPEN UP!"

Claire's head snapped towards the Watchman's Office, her feet moving before her mind could react, boots scuffing the dirty bloodstained floor as she shoved the door open, and stormed into the small office. Ahead, past the large bookcase filled with more folders and books, a set of desks - one with a small desk lamp offering much needed light to the small room - was another metal shutter that had been lowered. The young woman could hear the sound of fists slamming against unyielding steel.

The voice cried out again, somehow louder, cracking with obvious terror. "OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR!"

She had dawdled too long, not getting there fast enough. And now, someone was about to pay for her hesitation. Possibly with their life.

Rushing over to the shutter, Claire saw no large flip switch to raise it up, and realized it was probably on the other side, or perhaps not functioning at all, which would explain his obvious panic.

"I'm here!" she called to him, dropping down onto the back of her heels, and desperately attempting to worm her fingers under the heavy steel to try and lift it up. To save this man from this nightmare.

"OPEN THE DOOR! HURRY UP! HURRY UP, OPEN IT!"

His screaming kept rising in octaves, and Claire willed her aching arms to pull the gate up faster. Finally, the hatch came up, and an arm thrust under the opening, waving frantically, clutching something tightly all the while.

Pulling the gate up a little more, the frantic young woman grabbed the officer's arm with her right hand while urging him, "Here, give me your hand!"

"Here, here, help me!" the cop pleaded, and Claire rose back up while stepping back, using her sudden momentum to pull the heavier man forward. The policeman's head and left arm followed his right, his torso inching out too slow for comfort.

"Hold on, give me your– give me your other hand!" she cried, her straining arms not pulling him fast enough.

He wriggled under the shutter, waving his left arm out for hers to grab by the wrist, and Claire began pulling with all her might, heart pounding, adrenaline fueling her, giving her a second wind-

-and the policeman screamed in complete, utter agony, a sound that chilled the young woman to the bone as blood erupted like a geyser fount from behind the shutter, a slick, wet, meaty sound accompanying his screams of pain, under toned by the rasping groan of the undead.

Claire pulled at the man harder, desperately shouting over his screams, "It's okay! I got you!" But if he heard or understood her was beyond her, his face contorted in horror and pain, more blood gushing, more horrible tearing meat sounds, and more hungry groans from behind the shutter. With one last desperate pull, the redheaded woman managed to yank the cop out from under the shutter-

-and she nearly screamed when she saw a massive, red, slimy hole where his waist and legs should have been, long, tubular ropes of intestines and fleshy sinew trailing through rivers of blood and gore. Claire's hands shot to her mouth, her eyes wide in horror and profound sadness, the man's screams stopping, his face rapidly paling from a healthy tan to a deathly white.

"Oh... Oh my god...!" she gasped, but the officer was still weakly waving his arms over his head, his dying expression still determined. Pain-filled, but desperate.

"Tell... Marvin..." he choked out, thin streams of blood sliding down the sides of his mouth. Then, his arms went limp, his left falling silently to the floor while his right rested on his chest, and his torso went still.

Panting, choking back tears, Claire whispered brokenly, "I'm so sorry..."

Her mind raced, deep waves of pity for this dead officer, mixed with bitter, sudden self-loathing rushing through her all at once. She should have moved faster, and not been so overwhelmed by the situation. She could have saved him. She should have saved him.

Claire wanted to scream, or cry. She was a nineteen year old college student. She was supposed to be worrying about her classes, trying to forgive Tony for his stupid mistake that pushed her to rush off to Raccoon. And instead, here she was, knee deep in blood and horror, the living dead eager to sink their rotting teeth into her warm flesh.

She wanted to go home. She wanted Chris to find her, and take her away from this nightmare.

Her self-pity didn't last long when she heard harsh, heavy smacks of multiple hands bashing against the steel shutter less than two feet away. Claire's head snapped up, her grey-blue eyes wide with terror as she watched the shutter visibly shake and move, each smack punctuated by a snarling groan from what had to be several zombies slamming their rotting hands against it.

"Oh god..." she uttered breathlessly.

Staying here feeling sorry for herself wasn't an option. The officer was dead, but she wasn't. She had to stay alive. To find Chris, and reunite with Tony, if nothing else.

Glancing down at the departed officer, Claire allowed herself one last moment of sympathy for him and slight anger for her failure to save him, before starting to rise back up-

-when her knee brushed his right arm, causing it to limply fall to the side, his fingers going lax, and letting a small brown pocket book slip out of his grasp. Blinking, Claire stared at the object for a second, before realization struck her, causing her to bend back down and pick it up. Upon holding it closer, she realized exactly what it was.

This is what he held up to the camera, when he was saying he found a way out. It's in here!

Her mind racing, the girl frantically opened the small notebook, her eyes wide with hopeful excitement; that the officer hadn't died in vain after all. She flipped through the small pages, getting to the very last ones that had been written on. Her hope turned to confusion when all she found were some crude drawings on the small paper.

On the first two, there was a doodle of a figure holding something, followed by a rectangle floating next to it, with three empty circles inside, three other circles above it only colored in with red ink, then a smaller connected passage under the figure, which led to another passage with a question mark inside it, which then led up into another box with the words 'parking deck' written inside it. She urged herself to slow down, and focus on the drawings. Not the undead banging at the door less than a foot away from herself. When she saw the scribbled writing next to the doodle that read 'goddess statue,' it all clicked in the college girl's mind in an instant, causing her eyes to widen.

"The statue... In the hall. The way out's under it!" she breathed in disbelief.

A way out of here. A secret underground passage that might not have a single zombie lurking around. A safe way out of here!

That thought alone drowned out the obvious question of why a police station would have a secret passage built under it, but she'd dwell on that later... if there even was a later. For right now, she had to get out of here, and find someplace safe to pore over these pages, and plan her next move.

Stuffing the notebook into her hip satchel, Claire stood up quickly, looking away from the steel shutter still being banged on relentlessly, and started for the door out of the Watchman's Office-

-when the wooden door shook violently, something heavy throwing itself against the frame, punctuated with a vicious, starving hiss.

"Shit," Claire hissed, her right hand snatching her revolver out of its holster, the handgun drawn and ready in a split-second as the door continued to shake and rattle. The young woman berated herself once again for dawdling, allowing a walking corpse to corner her in this suddenly too small of an office.

Aim for the head. Shoot it in the head, just like Tony did at the gas station, she reminded herself.

She was a good shot. Chris and Tony both had taken her to a target range for practice. But that was stationary paper, and this would be a moving target.

She didn't dwell on that thought for long as the door gave in, smashing open as the zombie, which she recognized as the seemingly dead cop she had passed upon arriving at the Watchman's Office, lunged in with a hungry snarl. Drawing a bead on one of his filmy eyes, Claire squeezed the trigger.

The shot was much louder in the enclosed space, drowning out the zombie's grunt as the bullet found its cheek instead of its eye, the creature's head snapping back, its hat flying off as it staggered back... but failed to fall over, the undead righting itself, fixing its white eyes on the shocked woman as it opened its mouth in another hungry growl, thick, dark blood oozing down its ruined cheek and mouth.

Headshots usually work in the movies! her terrified mind rambled. But this was reality, not a movie, and she needed to put this thing down fast.

Focusing her aim again, Claire fired, the revolver nearly jumping out of her shaking hands. The second round slammed home right on the zombie's nose, shattering it in a spray of black gore and cartilage.

That seemed to do the trick, as the ghoul let out a long, rattling groan, before collapsing backwards, hitting the door again as it tried to swing close, pushing it open, and blocking it with its now permanently dead weight. Keeping the .38 trained on the now inert corpse, Claire moved quickly but carefully around it - just in case - before turning and breaking for the corridor back around the East Office.

As she passed the pile of bodies, a sudden snarl and pounding sound nearly made her scream, but her wide eyes followed the noise, spotting another zombie behind the barred window, one long arm futilely reaching through one of the gaps between the wooden boards, bloody fingers grasping desperately for her, but unable to break the barrier between them, thankfully.

Doubling her speed, Claire raced down the flooded passage, her boots making large splashes through the cold water, but just as she rushed past the locker and doors to the media room, she heard the very loud sound of wood crashing open, followed by more hungry moans of the damned. Skidding to a halt, the young woman only half-remembered the blocked-off door she had passed on her way to the Watchman's Office when she saw not one, but two zombies staggering from around the corner. They used to be a man and woman, formerly alive, now dead and searching for a fresh meal. Taking several steps back, Redfield raised her revolver again, pointing it at the closest approaching one, the woman, and aimed for her pale, blood-stained face.

The crack of the .38 was still pretty loud in the relatively open corridor, but easier to bear with. Much to Claire's relief, the bullet struck squarely on the woman's forehead, her skull exploding in a shower of blood and long locks of blonde hair as the body tumbled backwards, colliding with the male zombie, who rolled with the hit, and kept coming. Quickly targeting him, the younger Redfield fired twice, both bullets slamming into his face, and the undead went down with the woman. Lowering the smoking revolver, she broke into a fresh run, not even bothering to check the now open room to her right, just breaking for the partially open shutter that would take her back to the safety of the unoccupied Main Hall.

Clearing the small stairs in two great lunges, Claire practically dove for the shutter's opening. But as she squeezed her head and shoulders under it, she realized the damn thing must have dropped down partially after she had first crawled under it, as she could barely fit through now. With a harsh grunt of effort, she managed to shove the heavy metal sheet up a couple of inches, which was more than enough to let her start to half-wriggle, half-crawl out from under the dark, blood-soaked corridor. She had just pulled herself out from under the shutter almost entirely, and for half-a-second, the young college girl almost breathed a sigh of relief-

-when she felt something snatch her by the ankle of her boot, the sound of flesh against leather somehow drowned out by the hungry growl that was right behind her. Eyes widening, the startled young woman snapped her head around, her terror confirmed as she saw one of the zombies had somehow caught up with her, and was gripping her ankle with inhuman strength that a rotting corpse shouldn't have. The animated corpse was missing the left half of its cheeks, excess blood mixed with drool dripping down its snarling jaws as its hand yanked her leg back, dragging her bodily back towards itself.

Futilely, Claire attempted to kick at the creature with her free leg, but found it trapped under the zombie's body. Desperate, she began clawing at the floor while screaming, "Get off! Get OFF! HELP! HEEELP!"

Her screams fell on undead ears, and she felt the horrid monster get a grip on her arm.

"SOMEBODY HEEELP! HELP ME! TONYYY!"

Pulling itself over her, the undead's stinking breath was right on her neck-

-when something else grabbed her upper arm, and gave a hard but firm yank, freeing her from the zombie's grasp, and dragging her completely into the Main Hall. Claire saw a flash of blue, someone tall standing over her, move towards the shutter. All the while the zombie ragged and snarled, desperately trying to pull itself out as well.

As the figure moved in front of the steel door, Claire cried out a warning, "Watch out!"

"On it." The voice was cool and calm, hardly fazed by the zombie's almost frantic mania to grasp at them-

-and the steel shutter was slammed down, hard, atop its head, crushing it like a melon into pulpy bits of blood, brain matter, and bits of skull.

With an exhale of effort mixed with fatigue, the figure collapsed against the steel door, looking down at Claire while asking, "You alright?"

The shell-shocked redhead remained on the floor, eyes wide with a myriad of emotions: awe, lingering terror, and much-needed sweet relief.

Blinking, the young woman looked up at her rescuer as she responded breathlessly, "Yeah."

He was a tall, dark-skinned man with a light beard, and was in the standard blue shirt and dark khakis of a police uniform. The R.P.D. logo was on his uniform's shoulder, his belt strapped with a holstered sidearm, radio, the works... while a large open wound on the right side of his lower abdomen was barely hidden behind one bloodstained hand.

"You're safe... for now," he uttered, before gritting his jaw and wincing in obvious pain, sinking against the steel door while his hand spasmed over his wound. Regaining his composure, he looked back to her. "Marvin Branagh."

Still hyperventilating, unable to really digest how close she had come to dying and becoming one of the walking dead's latest meals, all Claire could respond with was a dazed "Thanks..."

Pushing himself away from the steel shutter, still clutching the bloody patch on his side, the wounded officer, Marvin, stepped towards the stunned woman while saying, "Obviously someone taught you well."

Still composing herself, Claire rambled, "Yeah. I know how to take care of myself..."

Thinking back on the brief but nightmarish trek through the East Wing of the station, it hadn't really been the skills she had picked up from Chris that saved her life, though. Just luck, and a few well-placed bullets.

Then again, considering she had almost just been eaten by a zombie not even a minute ago...

"...Mostly," she added quietly.

The young college girl blinked when a bloody hand came into her line of vision. Looking up, she saw the policeman standing directly over her, left hand extended out.

"Come on," he urged gently.

Finally calming her breathing, her heart still pounding, but less harshly, she gratefully accepted his hand, the officer hoisting her up despite his wound. Standing up and meeting Marvin's brown orbs, realization struck Claire like a lightning bolt. Looking down at her hip pouch, she dug around for a moment before producing the small pocket notebook she had taken from the dead cop in the Watchman's Room.

"The other officer, he-" she started, pausing as she choked back a sob, and willed her eyes to not fill with tears again. Inhaling shakily, she forced herself to just say it. "He found a way out."

Silent, Marvin looked from Claire to the notebook, reaching out with his hand to grasp it.

Giving it one last look over, the policeman started past her with a slight grimace, saying "This way."

Claire was just about to follow when she realized she hadn't introduced herself to the man who had saved her life. "Claire!"

The man stopped, looking back at her over his shoulder.

Steadying herself and meeting his eyes, she added, "Claire Redfield..."

Marvin's lips twitched up into a bemused smirk as he chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "Nice to meet you, Claire. Now come on. Let's see what Elliot found."

With that said, the officer started down the steps into the Main Hall, with the younger woman close behind.


Enter Marvin!

Not much else to say except thank you to everyone who has faved, followed, and taken the time to review this story of mine.

Quick author's note for the most frequent question this story has gotten on Dante: This the Tony Redgrave incarnation of the character, so it's technically before DMC3, he's still half-demon, just kind of amnesiac, he doesn't have Ebony and Ivory yet, and he didn't bring his sword with him because he never carries it when he's with Claire.