Raccoon City, Pennsylvania
September 29, 2018 –
3 days after Outbreak...
The wasteland continued to burn. The groaning filled the stifling air.
A chorus of corruption.
A symphony of death.
He'd never understand how it was possible for the world to be on fire while it wept in remorse. The rain beat down on the heads of the undead like tears from Heaven. He slipped in his own blood – leaving a hand print smeared over the door of the cruiser. Red, blue, red, blue – the myriad of colors swirled prettily across his face as he staggered.
Where were they? Had it worked? He was dying. He didn't need a doctor to tell him that. He was dying. How long did he have?
He was still faster than the dead that stalked him. His hand shifted off his stomach, watching the spill of bright red in the boiling shadows. He was going to join them soon enough. This wound? Mortal. He knew it. Even as he struggled to get some place and die with a little dignity. He knew it.
He looked out over the blistering black sky, watching the lightning streak and immortalize the face of the clock tower in the distance. He'd been a week late getting to this city. A week late to help during the outbreak. A week late to save a soul.
Serve and protect – it was written on the squad car he left behind him in the burning square. Had he? They were safe. Wherever they were? They were free of the nightmare. Surely. Surely he'd done, at least that. At least that.
His gloved hand slipped loosely over the handle for the door. RPD.
The last bastion of hope. Surely he'd find someone else alive inside. They were COPS. They were saviors. He couldn't be the only cop left alive in this necropolis. He couldn't.
The door opened and spilled him uselessly the tiles inside. Cool, he thought desperately, as he crawled forward and kicked the door shut behind him – sealing out the dead that hungered for his flesh and blood. The air conditioning was still working because this building was cool as a cucumber.
Softly, he breathed, "Fuck…please no." His bloody fingers gripped the railing in the massive lobby. Beautiful. Tremendous. The article in Architectural Digest had hailed it as a MODERN DAY MASTERPIECE – AN HOMAGE TO GOTHIC REVIVALISM.
The fountain burbled happily in the center of the breathtaking foyer. He wanted to marvel at the magnificence of it all. But he slipped in the blood from his own belly and tumbled the two steps down from the platform to the slick tiles instead.
He was going to die in this beautiful lobby on his first day on the job.
The doors creaked. He rolled to his back and backed up against the amazing fountain. He raised his weapon as it burst open – and a woman came through, sweaty, filthy, and panicked.
She raised her gun on him and his arm, shaking so badly he could barely keep it aloft, dropped his own pistol to his lap. The world shimmered gray and black. Gray and red. Gray and dark. He whispered, "…don't shoot…I'm a human."
Although he wasn't sure for how much longer. He slipped into the darkness staring at the end of her barrel – and wondering if it would be mercy for her to just put him down.
How else would he ever escape this nightmare?
Three days ago - he'd stepped out of his door and into the world of survival horror.
He was ready, so ready, for it to just be...game over.
He wasn't even afraid any more as he went to the floor in a pool of his own blood.