The sedan's engine coughed twice before dying completely.
Kaplan pumped the accelerator, turned the key again. Nothing. Just the click of a starter motor that had given everything it had.
"That's it," he said. "We're out of gas."
I checked our surroundings through the windshield. Suburbs. Tract housing with identical lawns and identical fences, the kind of neighborhood where people complained about grass height and never imagined zombies shambling down their cul-de-sacs.
"Where are we?"
"Outskirts of Raccoon City. Maybe three miles from downtown." Kaplan studied a map he'd found in the glove compartment. "There should be a gas station about half a mile east."
"We just left a gas station." Rain's voice was flat. "It had zombies."
"This whole area is going to have zombies soon." I opened my door, stepping out into morning air that still smelled normal. Birds singing. Distant sound of lawn sprinklers. The ordinary world, not yet aware it was ending. "We need to find shelter. Somewhere we can rest, resupply, figure out our next move."
The group assembled on the sidewalk. Six survivors in various states of damage—Alice alert and watchful, Rain testing her bandaged arm, Kaplan clutching his map like a talisman. Matt looked shell-shocked, the events of the past twelve hours finally catching up. Spence hung back, avoiding eye contact with everyone.
I'd saved his life on that train platform. Thrown him clear of the horde when he fell. Part of me wondered why I'd bothered—this was the man who'd stolen the T-Virus, who'd started the outbreak, who'd killed everyone in the Hive through greed and stupidity.
But he was also the only one who knew where the virus samples were. The only one who might lead us to containment options. Useful, even if he didn't know he was being useful.
"That house." Alice pointed to a two-story colonial at the end of the block. "No car in the driveway. Papers piled on the porch. Owners are away."
"How can you tell?"
"I just... know." She frowned, processing abilities that were becoming more intuitive by the hour. "The way I knew how to fight. The way I knew that Tyrant was going to swing left before it did."
Her training was returning. Not just muscle memory now, but tactical assessment, threat analysis, all the skills Umbrella had programmed into their perfect weapon.
We approached the house carefully. I reached out with my senses, scanning for signatures. Nothing inside. Nothing in the neighboring homes either—at this hour, people were at work, at school, living lives that would end very soon.
The back door lock yielded to Alice's attention. We filed inside, moving through a kitchen decorated with family photos and refrigerator magnets. Normal people had lived here. Probably still thought they did.
"Clear the house," I ordered. "Two-person teams. Kaplan and Matt, upstairs. Rain and Spence, basement and garage. Alice, you're with me."
The teams dispersed. Alice and I moved through the ground floor—living room, dining room, a home office with a computer that was still logged into someone's email. I resisted the urge to check for news. We'd find out soon enough how bad things were getting.
"You saved him." Alice's voice was quiet, pitched for privacy. "On the platform. You went back for Spence when you could have made it to the train."
"He's part of the group."
"He's dead weight. Worse than dead weight—he's been hiding something since we met him."
I turned to face her. Alice's eyes held the same sharp intelligence I remembered from the movies, now backed by experience and emerging power.
"What do you remember?"
"Fragments. The mansion. Research reports. A man who looked like Spence but younger, before the gas." She paused. "I remember him taking something. Putting it somewhere safe. I remember being afraid of what he was going to do."
Her memory was reconstructing faster than the films had shown. Another divergence from the timeline I knew—or maybe the amnesia gas had always worked this way, and the movies just hadn't bothered showing the recovery process.
"Do you remember what he took?"
"No. Not yet." Her jaw tightened. "But I will."
The house proved empty and secure. We regrouped in the kitchen, where Kaplan had discovered a well-stocked pantry and Rain had found a gun safe in the garage.
"Two shotguns, a hunting rifle, and a revolver." Rain laid the weapons on the kitchen table. "Ammunition's limited but it's better than what we had."
"Which was nothing." Matt picked up the revolver, checking the cylinder with hands that had learned gun basics in the past few hours. "I never thought I'd be grateful for someone's gun collection."
"Welcome to America." Rain's dark humor earned a tired smile from Kaplan.
I grabbed the hunting rifle—bolt action, scope, probably used for deer. Not ideal for close-quarters zombie fighting, but effective at range. Alice took a shotgun. Rain claimed the second one. That left the revolver for whoever needed backup.
"Food?" I asked.
"Canned goods, dry pasta, bottled water. Enough for a few days if we ration." Kaplan had already started organizing supplies. "There's a battery-powered radio in the garage. We can try to get news."
"Do it."
He disappeared, returning minutes later with a portable radio crackling with static. He cycled through frequencies until a voice emerged—calm, professional, the practiced tone of emergency broadcasting.
"—repeat, all residents of Raccoon City are advised to remain in their homes. Local authorities are responding to reports of civil disturbance in the downtown area. Do not approach anyone exhibiting signs of illness or erratic behavior. Emergency services are operational and responding to priority calls."
"Civil disturbance." Rain's voice dripped contempt. "That's what they're calling it."
"They're covering it up." I'd expected this—the corporate response that prioritized image over lives. "Umbrella controls the city. The police, the hospitals, the news. They'll keep calling it civil disturbance until the bodies pile too high to ignore."
"How long?" Matt asked. "How long before it gets bad?"
I thought about the movies. The timeline I knew. Raccoon City fell fast once containment broke—hours, not days. The nuclear option came on September 28th, less than five days away.
"Soon," I said. "Very soon."
The radio continued its useless reassurances as we ate cold soup from cans and shared bottles of water. The food tasted like survival—not good, but necessary. My body was still recovering from the power expenditure in the Hive, demanding calories I couldn't refuse.
Rain sat beside me, her bandaged arm resting on the table. The wound looked better than it should—the edges clean, the swelling reduced. No sign of infection, no fever, no tremors.
"How do you feel?" I asked.
"Like I got bit by a dead person and lived to tell about it." She examined the bandage. "It itches. Is that normal?"
"For healing, yes. For infection, I don't know."
"Helpful."
"I try."
She almost smiled. Almost. The events of the past day had stripped away most of her professional detachment, leaving something rawer underneath. Rain had lost J.D. Had watched me kill him. Had been bitten herself and was now waiting to see if she'd share his fate.
"If I turn," she said quietly. "Don't hesitate."
"You're not going to turn."
"But if I do."
I met her eyes. "Then I'll do what needs to be done. Like before."
She nodded, satisfied. Some promises were easier to make than keep. I hoped I wouldn't have to find out.
The radio crackled with new information—reports of "isolated incidents" spreading from downtown, recommendations to avoid certain neighborhoods, assurances that everything was under control.
Everything was falling apart.
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