He moved down the wide hall, listening for any sound and taking frequent deep breaths through his nose. The goo on his vest and hands made it hard to tell if there were any more of them around, the smell was all over him, but it could be his only chance to avoid another close encounter.
The hall turned to the left and he took the corner fast, sweeping the Beretta across the wide wooden expanse. There was a support pillar partially blocking his view but he could see the back of a man just past it, the slumped shoulders and stained clothes of one of the creatures.
Chris quickly edged to the right, trying to get a clear shot. The zombie was maybe forty feet away, and he didn’t want to waste his last rounds. At the sound of his boots against the hard wood floor, it turned, shuffling slowly. So slowly that Chris hesitated, watching the way it moved.
This one seemed to have been dipped in a thin layer of slime, dull light reflecting off of its glistening skin as it stumbled almost blindly toward Chris. It slowly raised its arms, its pale, hairless skull wobbling on its emaciated neck. Silently, it shuffled forward. Chris took a sliding step back to his left and the zombie changed direction, veering toward him ea-gerly, closing the distance between them at a slow walk.
Just like in the movies; dangerous but dumb. And easy to outrun. . . .
He had to save ammo in case he got cornered. There were stairs at the end of the hall, and Chris took a deep breath, readying himself. He stepped back, giving himself enough room to maneuver—
• and heard a gasping moan behind him, a fresh wave of rancid stink assaulting his senses. He spun, the realization hitting him even before he saw it. The festering zombie was only a few feet away, reaching for him, bits of its putrid gut spilling out across its shattered abdomen. He hadn’t killed it, hadn’t waited long enough to make sure, and his stupidity was about to cost him.
Ah, shit!
Chris sprinted away and down the corridor, dodg-ing both of them and cursing himself. He passed the thick support beam, almost to the stairs—
• and stopped cold, seeing what waited at the top.
He caught only a glimpse of the ragged creature standing at the head of the stairs and spun away, raising his weapon to face the attackers that shambled toward him hungrily.
From the shadows beneath the steps came a heavy, gurgling sigh and the scuffing of wood; another one. He was trapped, there was no way he could kill them all—
• door!
It faced the side of the stairs, the dark wood blending so well with the shadows that he almost hadn’t seen it. Chris ran for it, grabbing at the handle, praying that it would open as around him, the crea-tures closed in.
If it was locked, he was dead.
Rebecca Chambers had never been more afraid, not once in her eighteen years. For what seemed like an eternity, she’d listened to the soft scrape of rotting flesh brushing against the door and tried desperately to think of a plan, her dread building with each passing minute. There was no lock on the door, and she’d lost her handgun on the run for the house. The small storage room, though well stocked with chemi-cals and stacks of papers, had offered nothing to use as a defense except a half-empty can of insect repel-lent.
It was the can she gripped now, standing behind the door of the tiny room. If or when the monsters finally figured out how to use a doorknob, she planned on spraying it in their eyes and then making a run for it. Maybe they’ll be laughing so hard I’ll have a chance to slip past; bug spray, great weapon. . .. She’d heard what could have been shots somewhere close by, but they weren’t repeated. Her hope that it was one of the team faded as the seconds ticked past, and she was starting to give serious consideration to the concept that she was the only one left when the door burst open and a gasping figure hurdled inside. Rebecca didn’t hesitate. She leapt forward and pressed the button, releasing a cloud of chemical mist into its face, tensing herself to run past it—
“Gah!” It yelled, and fell back against the door, slamming it shut. It covered its eyes, spluttering. It wasn’t a monster; she’d just maced one of the Alphas.
“Oh, no!” Rebecca was already reaching into her field medical kit, her immense relief at seeing another of the S.T.A.R.S. battling with monumental embar-rassment.
She fumbled out a clean cloth and a tiny squeeze bottle of water, stepping toward him. “Keep your eyes closed, don’t rub at them.”
The Alpha dropped his hands, face red, and she finally recognized him. It was Chris Redfield, only the most attractive guy in the S.T.A.R.S., not to mention her superior. She felt herself blush, and was suddenly glad that he couldn’t see her.
Nice going, Rebecca. Way to make a good impres-sion on your first operation. Lose your gun, get lost, blind a teammate . . .
She led him over to the small cot in the corner of the room and sat him down, letting her training take over.
“Lean your head back. This is going to sting a little, but it’s just water, okay?” She dabbed at his eyes with the damp cloth, relieved that she hadn’t sprayed him with anything worse.
“What was that stuff?” he said, blinking rapidly. Tears and water streamed down his face, but there didn’t seem to be any damage.
“Uh, bug repellent. The label’s been ripped off but the active ingredient is probably permephrin, it’s an irritant but the effect shouldn’t last long. I lost my gun, and when you came in I thought you were one of those things, though if they haven’t figured out how to use a doorknob by now, they probably won’t—“ She realized she was babbling and shut up, finishing the crude irrigation and stepping back. Chris wiped at his face and peered up at her with bloodshot eyes. “Rebecca . . . Chambers, right?”
She nodded miserably. “Yeah. Look, I’m really sorry—“ “Don’t worry about it,” he said, and smiled. “Not a bad weapon, actually.”
He stood up and looked around the small room, frowning. There wasn’t much to see: an open trunk full of papers, a shelf lined with bottles of mostly unlabeled chemicals, a cot, and a desk. Rebecca had been through it all in her search for something to use against the creatures.
“What about the rest of your team?” he asked. Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t know. Something went wrong with the helicopter and we had to set down. We were attacked by animals, some kind of dogs, and Enrico told us to run for cover.” She shrugged, suddenly feeling like she was about twelve years old. “I got—turned around in the woods and ended up at the front door of this place. I think one of the others broke it down, it was open . . ” She trailed off, looking away from his intense gaze. The rest was probably obvious: she had no weapon, she’d gotten lost, she’d ended up here. All in all, a pretty poor showing.
“Hey,” he said softly. “There’s nothing else you could have done. Enrico said run, you ran, you followed orders. Those creatures out there, the zom-bies . . . they’re all over the place. I got lost, too, and the rest of the Alphas could be anywhere. Trust me, just the fact that you made it this far—“ Outside, one of the monsters let out a low, plaintive wail and Chris stopped talking, his expression grim. Rebecca shuddered. “So what do we do now?”
“We look for the others and try to find a way out.” He sighed, looking down at his weapon. “Except you don’t have a gun and I’m almost out of ammo. . . ” Rebecca brightened and reached into her hip pack. She pulled out two full magazines and handed them over, pleased that she had something to offer him. “Oh! And I found this on the desk,” she said, and produced a silver key with a sword on it. She didn’t know what it unlocked, but thought it might be useful. Chris stared at it thoughtfully, then slipped it into a pocket. He walked to the open trunk and looked down at the stacks of papers. He rifled through them, frowning.