"Hey..."
"What are you spacing out for? Havel!"
Rebecca's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling Havel back from the System interface. He shook his head, clearing the digital text from his vision. Now wasn't the time to browse the shop; he had a plot to survive.
"Sorry," Havel mumbled behind his gas mask. "Just thinking. Let's go. We need to find the tracks. I remember seeing them on the map; they should be close."
He took point, racking the slide of his Winchester M1897 "Trench Broom."
The shotgun was heavy and reassuring. Clipped to its side was a standard-issue police flashlight. He clicked it on, sending a beam of white light cutting through the oppressive darkness of the Arklay forest.
It helped, but barely.
Damn horror game logic, Havel grumbled internally. Why are "nuclear-powered" flashlights always so dim? They last forever but have the candlepower of a dying match.
If he survived this, he was going to custom-order a flashlight. Something with the power of a collapsed sun. He wanted a beam that could illuminate the next zip code and catch his neighbor cheating at poker. He wanted to see every single pixel of the monsters hiding in these woods.
Crunch... Crunch...
Their boots crushed the rotting leaves and twigs on the forest floor. In the dead silence of the Arklay Mountains, every step sounded like a gunshot. It was hard to believe anyone would willingly enter this place.
But luck was on their side.
After only a few minutes of searching, the trees thinned out, revealing a gravel embankment. Running along the top were two rusted steel rails.
"The tracks!" Rebecca whispered excitedly. "We found them!"
"If we follow these, we'll find the Ecliptic Express. And we won't get lost."
Finding the tracks was like finding a lifeline. In a boundless forest, a path meant survival. Whether they went forward to the train or backward to the city, they had a route.
Havel tightened his grip on the shotgun.
Here we go, he thought. The tutorial area.
They walked along the sleepers for a short while before Havel held up a fist.
"Stop."
Ahead, a dark shape lay twisted next to the rails. It was a vehicle. A military jeep, overturned and crushed against a tree.
Even from twenty meters away, the smell hit them.
It wasn't the metallic scent of a crash. It was sweet, cloying, and rotten.
The smell of death.
"Bodies..." Rebecca covered her nose. "They've been dead for days."
Havel and Rebecca exchanged a look. They both knew that smell intimately. They hurried forward.
Lying around the wreckage were the bodies of several men in military police uniforms.
"Ugh..."
Rebecca shined her light on one of the corpses and immediately gagged. "Oh god... that's brutal."
The bodies were ravaged. Their eyes were wide open, frozen in expressions of sheer terror. Their limbs and necks were torn open, covered in jagged bite marks.
It wasn't the clean slice of a knife or the hole of a bullet. Large chunks of flesh had been ripped away by force. Intestines spilled out onto the gravel like wet sausages.
If they hadn't skipped dinner, they might have lost it right there.
"Who... who did this?" Rebecca whispered, her voice trembling. "Was it the serial killer from the news? Or a bear? But these are soldiers... they're armed. How could they lose so badly?"
She couldn't wrap her head around it. What kind of man—or beast—could slaughter a squad of armed MPs like this?
A bear? A tiger? Or maybe... a dinosaur?
Havel glanced at her, almost amused by her naive speculation. Dinosaurs? Wrong game, kid. That's Dino Crisis.
He knew exactly what had happened. These men were attacked by Cerberus dogs—infected Dobermans.
The reason these bodies hadn't reanimated yet was simple virology. The T-Virus infection here was tertiary. Marcus infected the leeches. The leeches infected the dogs. The dogs bit the men. The viral load was diluted. It would take time for them to turn.
"Wait. Look at this."
Havel spotted a black briefcase lying open in the mud. He crouched down and pulled out a damp document.
"Prisoner Transfer Orders," he read aloud.
"Name: Billy Coen. Rank: Second Lieutenant, United States Marine Corps. Convicted of first-degree murder involving 23 civilians. Sentenced to death by court-martial. Ordered to be transported to the Regulat Base for execution."
He looked around the crash site.
"There's no body matching his description here. He must have escaped."
"Escaped?"
Rebecca took the file, her eyes scanning the mugshot. It showed a handsome man with slicked-back dark hair and a cynical gaze. A prominent tribal tattoo covered his left arm.
"He killed 23 civilians?" Rebecca gasped. "He's a monster! A mass murderer! Do you think he killed these MPs?"
It made sense to her. A desperate man, a trained killer, facing execution. Maybe he snapped, killed his guards, and fled into the woods. Maybe the bite marks were him trying to hide the evidence or... worse.
Havel shook his head.
"Use your brain, Rebecca. Look at the bodies. No gunshot wounds. Do you think one handcuffed prisoner took out four armed MPs with his teeth? Tore their guts out with his bare hands?"
He knew the truth. Billy Coen was the scapegoat. The "civilian massacre" was a botched operation ordered by corrupt superiors who then pinned the blame on the only man with a conscience. Billy was innocent.
But he couldn't tell her that yet.
"Forget him for now," Havel said, standing up. "Our mission is the train."
He grabbed Rebecca by the back of her tactical vest, lifting her slightly like a misbehaving kitten.
"Hey! Put me down!"
"Walk faster then. We're burning daylight. Or... moonlight."
Ignoring her protests, he marched her down the tracks.
Unbeknownst to them, deep in the treeline, several pairs of glowing red eyes watched them pass. Low growls rumbled in throats that no longer barked, only hungered.
Ten Minutes Later.
"There! Havel, look!"
Rebecca pointed ahead.
Through the mist, a massive silhouette emerged.
It was the Ecliptic Express.
The luxury train sat motionless in the middle of the forest. It was completely silent. Not a piston hissed, not a wheel turned.
Yet, chillingly, the lights were on.
Every window glowed with a warm, inviting yellow light, casting long shadows onto the trees. It looked like a ghost train.
"The passengers..." Rebecca whispered. "Where are they? Why is it so quiet?"
There were no bodies on the tracks. No screams for help. Just the hum of the electric lights.
She started to run toward the rear car door.
"Wait!"
Havel grabbed her arm, yanking her back hard.
"Something's wrong. It's too quiet. Don't just run in there."
He gripped his shotgun, his knuckles white.
If his memory served him right, the moment they stepped through that door, the welcome party would begin. And they weren't serving champagne.