emaciated neck. Silently, it shuffled forward.
Chris took a sliding step back to his left and the
zombie changed direction, veering toward him ea-
gerly, closing the distance between them at a slow
walk.
Just like in the movies; dangerous but dumb. And
easy to outrun. . . .
He had to save ammo in case he got cornered.
There were stairs at the end of the hall, and Chris took
a deep breath, readying himself. He stepped back,
giving himself enough room to maneuver-
-and heard a gasping moan behind him, a fresh
wave of rancid stink assaulting his senses. He spun,
the realization hitting him even before he saw it.
The festering zombie was only a few feet away,
reaching for him, bits of its putrid gut spilling out
across its shattered abdomen. He hadn't killed it,
hadn't waited long enough to make sure, and his
stupidity was about to cost him.
Ah, shit!
Chris sprinted away and down the corridor, dodg-
ing both of them and cursing himself. He passed the
thick support beam, almost to the stairs-
-and stopped cold, seeing what waited at the top.
He caught only a glimpse of the ragged creature
standing at the head of the stairs and spun away,
raising his weapon to face the attackers that shambled
toward him hungrily.
From the shadows beneath the steps came a heavy,
gurgling sigh and the scuffing of wood; another one.
He was trapped, there was no way he could kill them
all - door!
It faced the side of the stairs, the dark wood
blending so well with the shadows that he almost
hadn't seen it. Chris ran for it, grabbing at the handle,
praying that it would open as around him, the crea-
tures closed in.
If it was locked, he was dead.
Rebecca Chambers had never been more afraid, not
once in her eighteen years. For what seemed like an
eternity, she'd listened to the soft scrape of rotting
flesh brushing against the door and tried desperately
to think of a plan, her dread building with each
passing minute. There was no lock on the door, and
she'd lost her handgun on the run for the house. The
small storage room, though well stocked with chemi-
cals and stacks of papers, had offered nothing to use
as a defense except a half-empty can of insect repel-
lent.
It was the can she gripped now, standing behind the
door of the tiny room. If or when the monsters finally
figured out how to use a doorknob, she planned on
spraying it in their eyes and then making a run for it.
Maybe they'll be laughing so hard I'll have a chance
to slip past; bug spray, great weapon...
She'd heard what could have been shots somewhere
close by, but they weren't repeated. Her hope that it
was one of the team faded as the seconds ticked past,
and she was starting to give serious consideration to
the concept that she was the only one left when the
door burst open and a gasping figure hurdled inside.
Rebecca didn't hesitate. She leapt forward and
pressed the button, releasing a cloud of chemical mist
into its face, tensing herself to run past it.
"Gah!" It yelled, and fell back against the door, slamming it shut. It covered its eyes, spluttering.
It wasn't a monster; she'd just maced one of the
Alphas.
"Oh, no!" Rebecca was already reaching into her field medical kit, her immense relief at seeing another
of the S.T.A.R.S. battling with monumental embar-
rassment.
She fumbled out a clean cloth and a tiny squeeze
bottle of water, stepping toward him. "Keep your eyes closed, don't rub at them."
The Alpha dropped his hands, face red, and she
finally recognized him. It was Chris Redfield, only the
most attractive guy in the S.T.A.R.S., not to mention
her superior. She felt herself blush, and was suddenly
glad that he couldn't see her.
Nice going, Rebecca. Way to make a good impres-
sion on your first operation. Lose your gun, get lost,
blind a teammate . . .
She led him over to the small cot in the corner of
the room and sat him down, letting her training take
over.
"Lean your head back. This is going to sting a little,
but it's just water, okay?" She dabbed at his eyes with the damp cloth, relieved that she hadn't sprayed him with anything worse.
"What was that stuff?" he said, blinking rapidly. Tears and water streamed down his face, but there
didn't seem to be any damage.
"Uh, bug repellent. The label's been ripped off but
the active ingredient is probably permephrin, it's an
irritant but the effect shouldn't last long. I lost my
gun, and when you came in I thought you were one of
those things, though if they haven't figured out how to
use a doorknob by now, they probably won't."
She realized she was babbling and shut up, finishing
the crude irrigation and stepping back. Chris wiped at
his face and peered up at her with bloodshot eyes.
"Rebecca . . . Chambers, right?"
She nodded miserably. "Yeah. Look, I'm really Sorry."
"Don't worry about it," he said, and smiled. "Not a bad weapon, actually."
He stood up and looked around the small room,
frowning. There wasn't much to see: an open trunk
full of papers, a shelf lined with bottles of mostly
unlabeled chemicals, a cot, and a desk. Rebecca had
been through it all in her search for something to use
against the creatures.
"What about the rest of your team?" he asked. Rebecca shook her head. "I don't know. Something went wrong with the helicopter and we had to set
down. We were attacked by animals, some kind of
dogs, and Enrico told us to run for cover."
She shrugged, suddenly feeling like she was about
twelve years old. "I got-turned around in the woods and ended up at the front door of this place. I think
one of the others broke it down, it was open . . ."
She trailed off, looking away from his intense gaze.
The rest was probably obvious: she had no weapon,
she'd gotten lost, she'd ended up here. All in all, a
pretty poor showing.
"Hey," he said softly. "There's nothing else you could have done. Enrico said run, you ran, you
followed orders. Those creatures out there, the zom-
bies . . . they're all over the place. I got lost, too, and
the rest of the Alphas could be anywhere. Trust me,
just the fact that you made it this far."
Outside, one of the monsters let out a low, plaintive
wail and Chris stopped talking, his expression grim.
Rebecca shuddered. "So what do we do now?"
"We look for the others and try to find a way out."
He sighed, looking down at his weapon. "Except you don't have a gun and I'm almost out of ammo. . ."
Rebecca brightened and reached into her hip pack.
She pulled out two full magazines and handed them over, pleased that she had something to offer him.
"Oh! And I found this on the desk," she said, and produced a silver key with a sword on it. She didn't
know what it unlocked, but thought it might be useful.
Chris stared at it thoughtfully, then slipped it into a
pocket. He walked to the open trunk and looked down
at the stacks of papers. He rifled through them,
frowning.
"Your background's in biochemistry, right? Have
you looked through these?"
Rebecca joined him, shaking her head. "Barely. I've been kinda busy watching the door."
He handed her one of the papers and she scanned it
quickly. It was a list of neurotransmitters and level
indicators.
"Brain chemistry," she said, "but these numbers are all screwed up. The serotonin and norepinephrine
are too low . . . but look here, the dopamine is off the
chart, we're talking big-time schizo."
She noticed the incredulous look on his face and
smiled a little. Being an eighteen-year-old college
grad, she got a lot of that. The S.T.A.R.S. had
recruited her right after graduation, promising her a
whole team of researchers and a lab of her own to
study molecular biology, her real passion-provided,
of course, that she went through basic training and got
some field experience. No one else had shown much
interest in hiring a whiz kid. . . .
There was a soft thump at the door and her smile
faded. She was getting experience, alright.
Chris fished the sword key out of his pocket and
looked at her seriously. "I passed a door with a sword engraved over the keyhole. I'm going to go check it
out, see if it leads back to the main hall. I want you to
stay here and go through those files. Maybe there's
something we can use."
Her uncertainty must have showed in her face. He
smiled gently, his voice low and soothing. "I've got plenty of ammo, thanks to you, and I won't be gone
