City of the Dead

Chapter Eleven

Jill Valentine was lost in a winding hallway without windows. Blood covered the floor almost up to her ankles, and when she walked it splashed all the way up to her knees. She looked down at herself and was surprised to see that she was not wearing her police outfit. Instead, she wore a sleek black dress with a shockingly low neckline. Large rusted manacles were locked around her wrists, a heavy length of chain between them, weighing her arms down.

She turned a corner and saw Barry Burton lying on his back in a huge puddle of blood. She ran up to him and knelt down to hold him up. He was completely unharmed, but he was not breathing. She tried to talk, but could not hear her own voice.

Suddenly, Barry’s eyes popped open and a gun appeared in his hand. He pointed it at Jill’s face, and she backed away as Barry got to his feet. He smiled wickedly, and took a pair of sunglasses from his pocket. Placing them on his face, he magically morphed into Albert Wesker. He pulled the trigger and Jill screamed.

She rolled off the couch in her apartment and fell to the floor, slamming her elbow against the edge of the end table. She shouted in pain and rolled onto her back, shoving away the tangled blanket wrapped around her legs. She rubbed her elbow with her other hand and took a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling.

A nightmare. A stupid, meaningless nightmare. So far, Jill had been spared nightmares of her experience in the Arklay Mountains, so it surprised her that this one was so vivid. Of course, last night was the first night since she came back that she went to sleep relatively sober, so she guessed that had something to do with it.

She stood up and tossed the blanket onto the couch. She was still dressed in the wrinkled pair of jeans and blue t-shirt she had fallen asleep in. The clock on the wall said it was only nine-thirty in the morning, earlier than she expected. She guessed that she would have slept in much later if the nightmare hadn’t woken her up.

Actually, what woke her up was the scream. She looked around her apartment curiously, as if searching for something. She screamed in her dream, but now she had the strange feeling that she was actually awakened by a real scream.

Just then, she flinched when a terrified scream erupted out in the hallway. It was a real scream after all, Jill realized with a start. She stumbled around the couch and ran to her front door, pulling it open.

An elderly woman was at the end of the hallway near the stairwell, slumped on the floor. It was Mrs. Calloway. She and her husband lived down the hall. Her arm was bleeding freely, and she gripped the wound with her other hand. She sobbed and stared into the stairway.

Jill ran down the hall. “Mrs. Calloway, what’s going on?”

The old woman shrieked when Jill came up, holding her hands in front of her face. Before Jill could ask what was wrong, someone stepped out of the stairwell. Jill recognized him as one of her neighbors on the first floor, although she didn’t know his name. He was a handsome African American man, wearing a pair of jeans and a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey. Jill staggered backwards and cried out in surprise when he stepped into the hall.

His face and neck were covered in blood, and the side of his mouth and cheek were ripped away, exposing his teeth in a horrifying grin. His eyes stared wildly ahead, and spots of blood dotted his forehead. He groaned and reached down for Mrs. Calloway.

Jill jumped forward and kicked him right in the chest. He went backward and tumbled over the edge of the stairs, crashing down limply. He flopped to the floor at the bottom of the flight of stairs, blood splattering out when his face struck the floor. Jill stared down at his twisted body in disbelief, watching as the man awkwardly got back to his feet, one arm bent brokenly. He groaned again and went up the first step.

Jill grabbed Mrs. Calloway and pulled her to her feet. She sobbed uncontrollably, grasping to Jill’s shirt like a lifeline. Together, they ran back to the old woman’s apartment, which was two doors down from Jill’s.

Jill slammed the door shut and slid the deadbolt across. Mrs. Calloway, still crying as blood dripped down her frail arm, slumped to the floor.

“What’s going on?” Jill demanded, kneeling down and placing her hand on Mrs. Calloway’s shoulder. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, it’s horrible,” the old woman sobbed. “I can’t reach anyone on the phone. I was … I was going to drive to Norman’s job to make sure he’s okay. But that … that man attacked me. There’s so many of them outside ...”

Jill’s head was pounding. She walked away from Mrs. Calloway and went to the window. She held her breath and pushed away the blue curtain, looking out at the street in front of the apartment building.

“No,” she said. “No. I’m still dreaming.”

There were at least fifty people out in the street, meandering around drunkenly, some of them with their hands stretched out. Some of them were wounded, their necks or arms sporting ragged wounds. Others sported smears of blood across their faces, and when they groaned, Jill could see their teeth outlined in gore.

“Norman said he felt sick this morning,” Mrs. Calloway muttered. “But he went to work anyway. And then the television stopped working. And the phones don’t work either!” she cried. “Why don’t the phones work?”

“This can’t be happening,” Jill continued, not listening. “Not now. Not today.”

But this time, she wasn’t having a nightmare. She backed away from the window, letting the curtain fall back into place. Her heart was beating so hard it felt like someone was punching her in the chest. She tried to slow her breathing to no effect.

Their worst fears had been realized. The disease had reached the city. Somehow, it didn’t hit the edge of the city first, like Jill expected it to. She assumed it would reach the outskirts of Raccoon City first, and the police would deal with it long before it spread to the inner city. But it was here now, and so soon. How had it infected the city so fast?

Mrs. Calloway was still talking. Jill turned to look at her, and then down at the bloody bite mark on her arm.

“Jesus,” Jill whispered.

“I have to find Norman,” Mrs. Calloway said plaintively.

Jill went over to her and pulled her to her feet. “Come on,” Jill said. “You’re hurt. You have to rest. I’ll go and find some help, okay?”

“But what about Norman?”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Jill led Mrs. Calloway to her bedroom and sat her on the bed. She asked where to get some bandages, and went to get them. She quickly came back and wrapped the old woman’s forearm with gauze and then a large bandage. Carefully, she made sure not to touch any of the blood.

“Listen,” Jill said, her voice strained. “Just stay here, okay? I’ll go find some help and bring them back here.”

“Why is this happening?” Mrs. Calloway whimpered.

“I don’t know,” Jill said. “But it’s going to be okay. You have to stay here. It’s not safe out there.”

She left Mrs. Calloway sitting on her bed, and rushed back out into the hallway, quickly looking down each direction to make sure it was empty. She hurried to her own apartment and ran inside.

It was too late for poor Mrs. Calloway. Jill knew she was basically leaving the woman to die alone, but what else could she do? There was no way to help her now, since she was bitten. The truly humane thing would be to kill her now and put her out of her misery, to prevent her from coming back as a zombie. But Jill was not going to do that.

Right now, Jill had to get the hell out of there. Out of the apartment, and out of the city completely. She knew the roads were probably pretty jammed up, but she had to take the risk. There was no way in hell she was staying in Raccoon City if she had anything to say about it.

She quickly pulled on socks and shoes, and grabbed a dark blue jacket off the back of one of her kitchen chairs. She didn’t know what else to really take with her, since almost everything was already packed in her car. All that was left in the apartment were a few small bags of loose photographs and other random mementos.

Her personal firearm was packed in the car already, buried inside one of her suitcases. She never expected to need it so soon, and she cursed herself for it now. There was no way she was going out there without a gun. There were too many zombies outside. She would be mobbed by them by the time she made it to her car. Where in the world could she find a gun?

One of her neighbors down the hall, a man named Larry, was a hunter and a gun enthusiast. Jill had seen him leave for hunting trips before, and she knew that he owned shotguns and rifles. It only took Jill a minute to make up her mind.

She went back out into the hallway and saw the man in the Steelers jersey down by the stairwell. She ignored him for now and went to Larry’s apartment. She swallowed and pounded on the door.

“Larry! It’s Jill from across the hall! Are you there? Please let me in!”

She slammed her fist into the door but could not hear anything inside. The man in the Steelers jersey slowly walked down the hall, his broken arm swaying from side to side. His wide open eyes stared hungrily at Jill as he gradually made his way towards her. She kept one eye on him, pounding on the door repeatedly.

“Larry! Please let me in!”

She took a deep breath and backed up until she was against the opposite wall. She glanced at the Steelers fan, who was now halfway down the hall, moving faster as he got closer. She braced herself and rushed forward, tensing the muscles in her leg and slamming her foot into the door. Her leg quivered painfully and the door rattled, but it remained firm.

Usually, someone like Chris or Barry was the one to kick open doors, but Jill had seen it done enough times to know the basic principle. The door frame was just wood, and if she could hit it hard enough right near the doorknob, it might break. She wished she was wearing something sturdier than sneakers, but she didn’t exactly have time to change her shoes. She kicked at the door two more times, and on the second try, she heard a satisfying crack. The Steelers fan was fifteen feet away now, groaning loudly, broken arm dangling at his side.

Jill rushed the door and slammed into it with her shoulder, putting all her weight into it. The frame cracked again, but the deadbolt held firm, so Jill backed up once more to try again, panting for breath, her shoulder throbbing in pain.

When the Steelers fan was almost within reach, she launched herself at the door and this time the deadbolt broke away from the frame, throwing the door open. She stumbled through the doorway and fell to the floor of Larry’s living room. Getting up as quickly as she could, she slammed the door shut, but of course it would not stay closed now. She grabbed a chair from the kitchen and propped it up under the doorknob just as the Steelers fan reached the door and began pushing against it, moaning angrily.

Jill looked around quickly but it seemed like no one was home. But since the deadbolt had been latched, Larry must be there. Jill walked anxiously down the hall toward his bedroom and glanced into the bathroom. Larry was lying face down on the tile floor, dressed in pajama pants, one arm up onto the rim of the bathtub, as if he died trying to pull himself back to his feet. His eyes stared at the wall unblinkingly, his mouth open.

Jill went into his bedroom and opened his closet. Breathing a sigh of relief, she saw his guns there, propped up against the wall in protective cases. She unzipped the cases, set aside the rifles, and placed a twelve-gauge shotgun on the bed. It was a basic Winchester hunting shotgun, the stock and barrel covered in camouflage tape, and it came with a shoulder strap, also camouflaged. Shotgun shells were in a box on the floor, and Jill grabbed them too. Back in the living room came the sounds of continued banging on the door.

Jill spied a box of nine-millimeter rounds on the floor under some dirty laundry, and she immediately began looking around for the pistol Larry surely owned. It was not in the closet, so she began opening drawers and fumbling through his clothes.

“Come on, where is it?”

She found a black Beretta pistol stuffed between the mattress and box spring of his bed, and quickly ejected the clip. It was already loaded, so she slid it back in place and stuffed the pistol into her back pocket. She filled her side pants pockets with bullets, and put the remainder into her jacket pocket.

Suddenly the front door crashed open. She looked up to see the broken kitchen chair slide across the floor. She grabbed the case of shotgun shells and slid as many as she could into the shotgun. It took seven shells, and she pumped the handle to load one into the chamber. A handful more went into her jacket pocket. When the Steelers fan did not come out into the open, Jill pressed the stock into her shoulder and walked down the hall to the living room.

The zombie stood in the doorway. He groaned and took one step forward when Jill came into view. She pulled the trigger, and the shotgun boomed loudly, the recoil pounding into her shoulder, almost knocking her over. The zombie’s head exploded, and the body tumbled over backward. Blood and brains splattered across the open doorway.

Jill lowered the shotgun. She had fired shotguns before, of course, but this one had way more kick than she was used to. She winced and rubbed her shoulder.

From the bathroom, there came a noise. She glanced back to see Larry step into the hallway, his hair sticking up and mouth hanging open, looking around as if the gunshots woke him up from a peaceful sleep. He glared at Jill and walked towards her, baring his teeth, reaching out.

“Sorry, Larry,” Jill said softly.

She raised the shotgun again and blew Larry’s head off.

She stepped over the Steeler fan’s dead body and went out into the hallway. It was still empty, so she went back to her own apartment quickly to get her bags of pictures. She did not want to leave them behind.

The source of the infection was obvious now. Larry became infected inside his locked apartment, so it did not take long for Jill to figure out how the disease reached the city. It must have gotten into the city’s water supply. That would easily explain how so many people became infected all at the same time. The thought made Jill shiver. If she had gotten up earlier, or not realized what was happening, she could easily have turned on the water to get a drink, and become infected herself. It was really blind luck that she stayed up so late the night before and slept through the morning. Blind luck saved her this time.

She made her way out of the apartment building, slinging the shotgun over her shoulder and carrying the Beretta because it had more bullets and she felt more comfortable using it. She ran down the steps and pushed open the door at the bottom, exiting out at the side of the building. Her car was parked in the lot out back, and she ran across the lawn, ignoring the half-dozen zombies she saw along the street.

The parking lot, however, was packed with them. Jill looked out in dismay at the cars scattered on the street, abandoned and clogging the whole avenue. She ran around the side of the parking lot to where her Corsica was parked, raising the gun to shoot a female zombie standing too close to the car. She opened the door and tossed the shotgun and bags of mementos onto the passenger seat.

Two zombies approached the car from the rear. Jill started the engine, put it in reverse, and slammed on the gas pedal. The car jerked back and knocked one of the zombies aside, but plowed right over the other one. Jill felt the car lift up as the rear tire ran right over the zombie. The zombie that avoided getting run over pawed at the open passenger side window. Jill stuck out the gun and shot him right in the forehead.

She put it back in forward gear and drove down the row of cars, slowing down just barely as she drove up over the curb, across the lawn, and then back over the curb onto the street. The front of her car scraped against the curb and rattled as she turned the wheel to speed away.

The streets were jammed with cars, but Jill felt confident that she could maneuver through the city streets and find a way out. Only a few main roads led out of Raccoon City, and at least one of them had to be open. The RCPD was probably trying to locate people who hadn’t been infected, to herd them safely out of the city, so all Jill had to do was …

Mrs. Calloway’s comment about the phones not working suddenly popped into her head. With a growing sense of dread, Jill reached down and turned on her car’s radio, but all that came from the speakers was crackling static. She turned the dial but got no reception at all.

That didn’t make sense. In an emergency like this, the radio stations should have been blaring warnings and instructions. Jill turned the radio back off, suddenly wondering if she was going to find a safe route out of the city after all.

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