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"He..." her lips formed the word, but no sound came out.
Her throat was cut.
I forced myself to look down at the rest of her mangled
body, and gasped at the sight of her lower torso. A huge
section of her stomach had been ripped out -- as if a Great
White shark had bittenn through her middle--and her
internal organs had popped out onto the road.
My hands and arms were covered with sticky blood by now
and I could hardly breathe, the air was so thick with the
stench of reeking intestines. Then, when I thought this
nightmarish scene couldn't get any worse, a terrified
scream split the night. I turned in the direction of the cry
and spotted a late model convertible pulled over with its top
down about fifty feet up the road.
In the moonlight, I saw some kind of huge animal leap into
the open car. At first I thought it was a big black
Newfoundland. Then 1 realized this thing was at least twice
as big as a Newf. The driver started screaming again, and I
could see his arms flailing as he tried to fight off the beast.
Then, suddenly, he was quiet.
I grabbed my Beretta automatic from under the Cobra's
dash and ran toward the convertible. Fifteen feet away I
stopped and aimed the pistol skyward. At the sound of the
gunshot the beast whirled and fixed me with a terrible
glare. It had hellish red eyes, as if the pupils were oozing
blood, and yellowed fangs that looked as fierce as a sabertoothed tiger.
A strange, guttural cry suddenly sprang from the animal's
mouth. "Kuooon," it shrieked, raising the hair on the back of
my neck. Stay cool, I reminded myself. You've got a gun,
and it doesn't. Chances are, it doesn't even know what a
gun is. Ipso facto, You, Chris Redfield, are in total command.
The beast leaped down from the car and took an ominous
step toward me. Or not.
In the blink of an eye, the gruesome thing was two steps
closer. I could smell it now, and the odor was putrid. Like
decay. Like death. Time to get serious. I raised my pistol in
both hands, took a breath and fired point blank at the
creature's head.
Nothing. No gushing blood, no fragmented flesh and bones.
I might as well have been tossing popcorn at the thing. I
mean, I know I hadn't missed. Not from that range. But
there were no bullet holes. Hell, the beast didn't even look
winded. What piece of devil's work was this?
I emptied my pistol at the animal, and was about to make a
break for my car, when it suddenly seemed to lose interest
in me. The beast gave a final shriek, then turned abruptly
and disappeared into the dark woods. For a long time I
stood there shaking, the sweat soaking my shirt. Then I
took a calming breath, reloaded my Beretta and very
carefully approached the convertible.
The driver was dead, of course, ripped apart as cruelly as
the woman I'd just left. Half his face was missing, and one
eyeball hung from its smashed socket by a string of tissue.
The moonlight was shining down directly into the man's
half-open skull, making his brain appear all shiny and pink.
The rest of his body looked like it had just emerged from a
meat grinder. Not much left you could recognize as human.
I'd seen a lot of deaths lately. Five, counting the two people
who'd just died before my eyes. The first murder had
happened six months before, and I'd been investigating the
strange cases ever since.
Actually, the word "strange" didn't half fit these killings.
Something sinister was at work here, some force beyond a
simple human murderer. I've been putting in 18-hour days
looking for answers, but so far the only thanks I've gotten is
a boot in the tail from the media. They keep insisting the
police aren't working hard enough on the case. Guess it
goes with the turf when you're a public servant.
I went back to my car and radioed in a report to police
headquarters. I couldn't leave the murder scene unsecured,
so I waited until I heard the approaching sirens, then took
off again for Victory Lake. But now there was no way I'd be
on time.
CHAPTER 2: THE NECKLACE
"Billy," I called into the wet wind off the lake, acutely aware
that I was half an hour late for our meeting.
No answer, just as there hadn't been any answer to my
previous calls. The night was still hot and I could feel the
sweat dripping off the ridge of my chin. I turned and looked
toward the moonlit parking lot. My silver Shelby was the
only car there. Had Billy gotten tired of waiting and left? Or
maybe he'd hidden his car in the trees so no one would
know he was there.
I turned and stared into the greasy face of Chief Brian Iron,
head of the Raccoon City Police Department. Brian is the
man who organized S.T.A.R.S.
"You were first on the scene, Redfield," he said. "Mind telling
me why you took off?"
"I thought I saw the murderer and gave chase, Chief," I said,
not wanting to tell him about Billy just yet.
"So you saw the perpetrator."
"I saw something. I'm not sure what."
"You're not making much progress solving these murders,
are you Redfield?" he said, reverting to the hypercritical
leader the S.T.A.R.S. team all knew and loathed. The guy
thought so much of his own law enforcement talents, he
couldn't imagine anyone else being nearly as competent.
"You want to take over for me, Chief? A man of your
indescribable talents ought to have the case wrapped up in
about an hour or so."
"Don't give me that sarcastic lip."
"Get off my back, Chief."
For a long moment he glared at me with the self-righteous
fervor of a Wild West evangelist. The man was a walking
ego. I'd even heard that he planned to run for mayor in the
next election. Ten years before, Raccoon City had been a
sleepy farming community, and the mayor was kind of a
glorified dogcatcher. But then the Umbrella Company
moved in and built a large research plant, and suddenly
there were new faces and new buildings all over the place.
Before anyone knew what was happening, almost half the
population of Raccoon City was directly dependent on the
Umbrella Company for their livelihood. Suddenly the
mayor's job was a plum to be squeezed, a position of power
from which a crafty politician might line his own pockets.
As the population swelled, crime had also increased. It got
so bad that the Company proposed establishing a special
crime-fighting force, paid for in half with corporate funds.
The city had agreed, and S.T.A.R.S. was formed.
Brian had been the unit's first commander. Then, two years
before, he'd been promoted to chief of police, and the
mysterious Lieutenant Albert Wesker had replaced him as
head of the S.T.A.R.S. team.
"I'll deal with you later, Redfield," the chief finally said.
"Looking forward to it, sir."
"Why don't you ride into headquarters with me, Chris. Give
you a chance to tell your whole story along the way."
"No thanks. If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to go home
and collapse on my bed. I'll file my report in the morning.
It's been a long grinding night and I'm whipped."
I turned and began to walk toward my car. None too soon,
apparently, because when I looked back I saw a reporter
break away from the pack and take off in my direction.
"Can I talk to you, Chris?" the journalist called out running
toward me with his coat tails sailing out behind. It was a
local guy I knew and liked, but I wasn't about to spill my
guts to anyone yet. He was almost to the car when I turned
on the ignition and threw her into reverse.
"I heard you witnessed the murders, Chris," he said, running
along beside the rapidly backing car. "When is S.T.A.R.S.
going to do something to protect our citizens?"
"Ask Chief Iron," I said, punching the Shelby into gear and
laying a patch right in front of Brian. His furious face in my
rearview mirror was a joyous sight to see.
The speedometer was edging eighty when I finally took my
foot off the accelerator and let the car coast as I thought
things through. Finding Billy was the key. I was convinced
that he knew the secret behind the gruesome murders that
had Raccoon City in the grip of terror.
But how was I going to find Billy?
CHAPTER 3: HEADQUARTERS, SPECIAL TACTICS AND
RESCUE SQUAD
S.T.A.R.S. was headquartered in the impressive building as
the Raccoon City P.D. building. Our unit commander, the
enigmatic and powerful Captain Wesker, had divided the
force into two teams, Alpha and Bravo. He took personal
command of Alpha, my unit, and assigned his deputy
commander, Lieutenant Enrico Marini, to head up Bravo.
Like most strong leaders, Wesker commanded instant
respect and obedience, and he expected the members of
Alpha and Bravo to carry out his orders without hesitation.
The two teams rotated shifts and were assigned separate
cases, except when something big happened and both
teams were called in.
Alpha Team had the duty today and when I walked in the
office I could feel the tension in the air. The string of grisly
killings had now reached five, and every S.T.A.R.S. officer
The girl was stubborn, I had to give her that. "Yeah, that's
what happened."
"You then took off in pursuit of the killer. In your car.
"Right."
"But you said the beast ran into the woods. You want to tell
me how you managed to slalom around the pitch-black
forest in that Shelby of yours? And then, why did you come
back to the murder scene?"
"Thought I might be able to help."
"Really."
"Yes, really. C'mon, Jill, knock off the third degree stuff. I'll
fill you in when the time's right."
The sound of children playing outside reverberated through
the long hall and Jill shivered at the sound. Visibly shaken,
she walked to the window and looked out. The light coming
in cast golden highlights in her hair, and, despite her
interrogation this morning, I had a flash of how she was
feeling.
Jill loved kids, and they loved her back. Several of her
daring escapades as a member of S.T.A.R.S. had made the
local TV news, and thousands of youngsters now looked
upon her as their heroine.
Then the trill of a young girl's laugh echoed from below, and
I suddenly remembered why Jill was so upset. Her
neighbors' children, two young girls Jill had become a
second mother to, had been among the beast's first victims.
They'd been on a camping trip with their parents when
they'd wandered into the nearby woods. When their parents
found them an hour later, they were already dead, their
bodies horribly mangled.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I was thinking about Becky and Priscilla. I saw their bodies
at the morgue, you know. Their little eyes used to be so full
of life. But they weren't anymore. They were full of fear.
Fear and death."
"I'm sorry, Jill. I know what those kids meant to you."
"Yeah," she said. "Well, Chris I'm not getting anywhere with
you. Later."
"Give me a little time, Jill," I said. "I think an important part
of the puzzle was dropped in my lap last night, but I can't
be sure yet. When I am, you're the first one I'll call."
"Guess I'll have to settle for that," she said, her eyes
clouded with doubt as she turned and walked away down
the hall.
CHAPTER 4: LOOKING FOR ANSWERS
I needed more information on Billy than I had, and I figured
I'd pay a surprise visit to the Umbrella Company. Sort of
beat the business bushes, and see what things came
scurrying out. As I was driving along the loop road leading
to the company complex, I began reviewing what I knew
about the company.
First, they seemed unusually generous when it came to
funding new municipal building projects. Raccoon City
boasted wide, palm tree-lined streets, modern schools, a
state-of-the-art hospital and a brand new city hall. Normally,
a city of only 300,000 wouldn't have the tax base to pay for
all these amenities. But the Umbrella Company -- with its
tentacles in everything -- had insisted on helping finance
citizen services.
The company complex appeared around a bend in the road
and I slowed the Shelby to get a better look. The most
imposing structure was Umbrella's 20-story corporate
headquarters. Its brick-colored walls rose in geometric
patterns that gave the structure a menacing appearance, as
if the building housed a cruel and unforgiving host.
I parked the Shelby near the building entrance and went
inside. The reception area took up half the ground floor and
was at least three stories high. Undoubtedly designed to
impress visitors with Umbrella's corporate clout. About 50
feet from where I stood, a beautiful dark-haired woman
flashed me a smile.
Hey, an invitation's an invitation. I practically skated across
the polished granite to her desk.
"Welcome to Umbrella," she said, flashing one of those
perfect receptionist smiles. "How may I help you?"
I put on my most somber face. "A friend of mine, a guy
named Billy Rabbitson, was one of the passengers on board
the Umbrella corporate jet that went down three months
ago."
"Yes, it was a terrible tragedy," the girl said. "I'm so sorry
your friend was among the victims.
"Thank you. I'm executor of his estate and I need to get
some details on Mr. Rabbitson's employment history at
I bent and picked one up. "It's Billy's brand, not that that
proves anything. Okay, we stick to the plan. I'm going
upstairs."
I searched the two bedrooms and bath on the second floor,
then came back down to find Jill coming through the door to
the kitchen. "Find anything?" I asked.
Jill shook her head. "Nothing out of place. How about you?"
"Zero. Maybe we should -- I stopped in mid-sentence, a
primal terror raging through me as the putrid stench of the
creatures filled the room. Jill smelled it too.
She stared at me, her eyes filled with fear. "It's them, isn't
it?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Now be quiet. We gotta listen. We gotta
know which direction they're coming from."
A moment later, we heard them. Outside in the yard. But it
wasn't the normal sound of approaching footfalls. No, the
creatures coming at us were dragging their club-like feet
through the dust as if their legs were too heavy to lift. From
the noise, I guessed that at least four or five creatures were
nearing the cabin.
Jill and I stood riveted to the floor, our eyes locked on the
open doorway. Outside, a chorus of spine-chilling moans
began to rise, a diabolical dirge from the dead. We braced
for the attack, and seconds later the creatures burst
through the door. They went for us like huge two-legged pit
bulls, and I could hear Jill screaming as we fought for our
lives.
As I struggled with two of the creatures, I got a clear look at
their faces for the first time. Their cheekbones were sunken
into their bloodless faces and their staring eyeballs
protruded like some sort of hideous insect. In place of
human canine teeth, the creatures had long, yellowed fangs
that could easily rip a body to shreds. I smashed my fist into
the jaw of the nearest monster, and the now familiar stench
of decay and death flowed from its mouth like sewage from
a cesspool.
I was losing my battle with the creature, and, judging from
the desperate sounds coming from Jill, she was about to go
down too. I had just about given up hope when a familiar
voice suddenly shouted out, "Shoot them. Chris!"
I led the way through the back door and along the side of
the cabin. At the corner we paused, brought our weapons
up to head height, then backpedaled as fast as we could
toward the car, the muzzles of our guns spitting fire at the
door behind us. One of the zombies bolted through into the
yard and I brought it down with a two-barrel blast in the
face.
We reached the Shelby and almost tore the doors off
getting in. I turned the key and that beautiful big engine
started up, its throaty roar dueling with the ghoulish groans
of the zombies behind us. The last two had crossed the yard
and were almost to the car when I threw it in gear, fishtailed
around and floored it across the small bridge leading to the
cabin.
I put five miles between us and the zombies before I eased
my foot back off the accelerator. I looked over at Jill. Her
face was still ashen, but that determined look was back. I
said, "I'm glad you were with me."
"I'm not."
"No, really. If I'd been alone, I doubt anyone would believe I
was attacked by zombies. It's too fantastic. But with two
witnesses, they'll have to at least listen."
"I can't wait to see Wesker's face when we make our report.
I've never seen him lose his cool, but having a pack of
murderous zombies loose in his jurisdiction might just do
the trick."
laughed. "Don't count on it. The man is a rock."
"You think he'll believe us?"
"He's got to," I said. "If someone's using a virus to create
zombies, it's going to take Wesker and every other member
of S.T.A.R.S. to stop them."
CHAPTER 7: S.T.A.R.S. GOES INTO ACTION
The S.T.A.R.S. office was in total chaos when we got back. In
one corner, Agent Richard Aiken, the unit's 23-year-old
communications expert, was screaming into a field phone,
while across the room, Captain Wesker was pacing back and
forth in obvious irritation.
He caught sight of Jill and I, nodded in recognition, then
went back to wearing a trench in the rug. Obviously, our
leader had a lot on his mind. And we hadn't even told him
about the zombies yet.
I could feel the fear in the chopper now; see it in the frozen
faces of the men around me.
"Redfield, Valentine," Wesker whispered hoarsely, "either of
you know what's making that sound?"
"It's coming from the zombies, Captain," I said, my eyes
locking with Jill's. "They're letting us know they're here."
End