Chapter Two

A/N:  I am not sure why the font and paragraphs are not matching with one another.  The first paragraph always looks like it is properly spaced, but the following paragraphs are cramped.  I tried everything to correct this, but no luck.


          Chapter Two
          1

Chris Redfield consulted his wristwatch. Only five minutes had passed since the last time he looked. His fingers rolled into his palms. They were slick with sweat and still hurting. He shifted his attention to the dirt caked digits as he straightened against the unforgiving hardness of the wall. His spine felt like a hot rod with wires tightening ever so slightly with each intake of breath. Staring out the cracked window pane, he found nothing to aid the pain.

He shivered. Night had fallen only an hour ago and a chill coursed in the wind that blew against the flimsy structure of the shed. He eyed the piles of bags in a corner. They had made a suitable barrier. Though he doubted anyone would attempt to burst in the door he could not take any chances. He had walked the streets alone for weeks now without spying a single survivor. Anyone left alive were either hidden away someplace secret or… He didn't want to think about it. Every time he thought about the possibilities his head hurt. It was bad enough he alone in this hell. He didn't need pain to render him totally helpless. He hated that feeling.

He rested his head on his arm as he draped it over his knee. He couldn't go out like this, he thought. He turned his face just enough to observe the handgun lying on a wooden plank. An oversized pack set beside it. It had been a while since he counted his ammunition and other supplies but was certain he had enough to last him a couple more weeks. After that… Again the possibilities made his head throb.

"It shouldn't be this way," he whispered.

How else could it be, he asked himself. If Jill was here she would know what to do, wouldn't she?

"Jill," he said. Her name was a soft melody on his lips and he repeated it until his eyelids grew heavy. He did not want sleep to come. His dreams as of late had been nothing more but sessions of hell. There was nothing worth dreaming about anymore. The only things he had to hold onto were memories.

He stiffened. Another chill raked over him. He wondered if he would ever see her again. The more he thought about the past the worse he felt. If he would have known this was where he would end up he would have done things much differently. Now here he sat alone and likely forgotten.

He shook his head. Jill would never forget him. They were partners after all or at least they had been.

He shifted onto his knees. The unmistakable sound of shuffling feet broke his train of thought. He grabbed the handgun and slung the pack over his shoulder. Standing he slipped an arm in a loop and waited. There was never any room for mistakes. His gaze sharpened. Closer still feet dragged as the stench of decaying flesh filled his nostrils.

     2

Sheva halted. She brushed a dark strand of hair out of her eyes and swung around the corner, covering every direction with a quick pivot and aim of her gun as she slowly made her way out into the street. The son of a b***h was around here somewhere. It had not been a figment of her imagination.

Out of the corner of her eye something rolled and she jerked to see the tail end of a newspaper just before it disappeared into an alleyway. She knelt behind an overturned garbage bin and stared straight ahead where a traffic light had fallen. Its mangled arm looked as though something powerful wrenched it loose.

She sprung onto her feet, moving slowly around abandoned cars and listening to their busted windows crunch beneath her boots. It glittered across the street like diamonds and caught every now and then the glint the fire ahead. It flared from under the hood of a car took crumpled and charred to establish the model or brand. She pressed on.

Leaving Africa to follow Chris Redfield to the States had not been a wise move, but you never leave a partner behind. You go where they go for better or worse. Now she was more determined than ever to relocate him. He was alive. He had to be. A guy like Chris wouldn't just lie down and die. He fought for everything he was worth and then some.

She slowed in her approach toward the ruins of a café. The enormous eighteen wheeler truck had come at them out of nowhere. Its driver was slumped at the wheel. They had only moments to react. She remembered Chris pushing her aside just before diving in the opposite direction. The crash of the tanker ignited an explosion and when she gathered herself into a stand she realized a line of fire separated them. There was no way to get to Chris or make sure he was all right. The only thing she could do was listen to his voice over cracking inferno and hope she heard him correctly.

Sheva took a deep breath. It didn't matter anymore. She darted through the entryway. The door hung off to the side by a single hinge. Whatever had entered here moments before nearly ripped it apart. She considered the two halves. Wood splinters lay strewn about an otherwise clean carpet.

A rustle to her left signaled her attention and she whipped around on her heels. She waited, squinted in the gloom and then inched forward. She swallowed hard. Her throat was dry and her tongue felt like sandpaper as she raced it across her lips.

A shadow spread ahead over a vast mural. Its arms stretched out, reaching for infinity as piercing eyes opened. As its jaws unhinged steam filtered through its long saliva covered teeth. Sheva aimed but the scope of the rifle refused to focus. Slinging it over her shoulder and into a holster on her back, she fished at her belt for a magnum. The weapon glinted under flickering forty watts as she raised it true.

It leapt. All she saw was shadowy feet and then it was gone. But how could it be gone? Those things don't just disappear. She may have been no biologist but the viruses she knew about did not have the capabilities. She searched. Her vision sharpened. She took another step forward and then another. She tried to tell herself it was a trick of lighting or perhaps her imagination running away with her, but deep down inside she knew something else had just transpired.

She groaned. All at once it hit her. It was a rather potent waft of decay mixed with sulfur. There was no telling where it originated from. It seemed to come at her at all directions. She coughed. Something else lingered. It was light but ever so apparent.

"It can't be," she whispered, covering her nose and mouth with her hand as though trying to filter through clean air. There was none to be had. It seeped in through her fingers and tingled her nostrils. Then slowly it burnt until tears flooded her eyes. "It is impossible."

But if there was anything she learned it was anything was impossible. To expect impossibility sorely diluted the capabilities of mankind. It was a lesson she had thought she learned back in Africa while on assignment with Chris, but she had only began to learn the unmistakable truth. She had wanted to push it aside, strangle it and bury it so that her thoughts may never again return to the dark and haunted place where they stirred and writhed like wild beasts. She had wanted to forget, to pretend as though people were not capable of such atrocities, but again the truth set her free.

She turned and as she did a shadow fell over her. The last thing she saw before darkness swirled around her was a pair of solid red eyes.