Chapter Three

Chapter Three

1

Jill watched as a plastic bottle rolled across a narrow lane. Her arm throbbed, the muscle stretched tight like a rubber band. Midnight brought with it rays of soft white from a full moon. It cast shadows that concealed a rotten strip of land. Had it not been for the smell she might have never known of the decay. She paused. It somehow seemed less offensive. It somehow captured her hunger.

She limped on. Lately her mind had become a thing to mistrust. She could not put value in thought. Anything resembling a fraction or mortal sensation was quickly polluted with rich chaos. In shirt waves it flushed memories. Leaning against a section of brick wall she found herself wondering when it was she experienced her first bite of ice cream. Then as she reached back further she fought to remember her birthday.

She stepped over a pipe. The rusted smell drifted to her nostrils, lingered in her lungs and finally took on a whole new scent. It sent chills down her spine. Her stomach churned, twisted and writhed. Glancing up at the sky she regarded the moon with a frown. In a few more days it wouldn't matter to her. In a few more days she would cease to be human.

"In the distance a wolf stands upon remains," the voice whispered. "Behind it a castle swells with noise. Within its chambers rests a force unlike any."

Jill chuckled. She didn't know when she started to hear it. She supposed it was a few days after her infection. It seemed like such a long time ago. She furrowed her brows. More memories were slipping away as she tried to recollect how exactly the situation unfolded.

"I don't want to end up like that," she cried. Her vision doubled. The street beyond faded momentarily before emerging in a dull luminosity. Her chest burned. "I can't let it end this way."

Chris, she thought. Her eyelids drooped.

"Chris," the feathery voice exhaled sharply.

"Who are you," she asked.

"It is a little late for introductions, isn't it?"

Jill leaned against the wall she had been using to hold her upright the last few feet. Its cold brick blocks chilled her to the bone. Drawing in a shattering breath she waited for the dizziness to subside and then slowly lowered herself onto her seat.

"Just tell me who you are," Jill insisted weakly. She felt another chill making it ways through her limbs and up her neck. She doubled over. Wrapping her arms tightly around her she closed her eyes and slowly began to rock from side to side.

"I am what you want me to be," it said.

Demons and angels were the same in her eyes. Some promised sweet relief from life's bitter rewards while others punish you for living a life you wanted to live. She didn't believe in devoting herself to ritual and judgment. There was no call for an all knowing deity since religion itself was such a touchy subject. Peeking through a slip of hair she raised her head only slightly. Her thoughts shrunk inside her. Soon all she became aware of was a beating silence in her ears.

Unfolded wonders invoke uncharted dreams. Basking in the reality of despair, innocence bends to a new horror. Nothing is ever free. Nothing is ever easy. Everything has a price. Everything has a world.

She shook her head. A spell of dizziness rushed in. She closed her eyes, buried her head between her knees and whimpered. The world as she knew it spun around her.

     2

Chris Redfield stared at the smoking end of his barrel. The body hit the floor with a fresh bullet hole in its forehead. For a moment he stood there still holding the gun but as he listened to shuffling footsteps proceed closer he darted across the street and hopped aboard a stack of grates. To his immediate left he climbed a succession of stairs. He swung onto the catwalk and followed the tightly strung space around a stretch of building. He did not bother to stop and gaze through its broken windows. Instead he set his sights on a door just ahead.

Why do you waste time?

He paused as his hand fell on the knob. That voice, he thought. There was that voice again. Where was it coming from and who did it belong to? His fingers curled around dull brass and he gave it a quick twist. He jerked open the door and crept inside. As he moved through a long hallway he felt his stomach lurch as his vision briefly doubled.

"You have everything and yet nothing befalls you. Why avoid what your heart is telling you," the voice echoed.

He swerved left at the bend. His pace slowed even more so. He hadn't considered his sanity might be slipping. He hadn't weighed the possibilities he might be cracking up. His eyes narrowed. Posted on a blue played door was a piece of parchment. With steady fingers he plucked it free from a thumb tack and read it.

Debra Towns…the T-Virus. Turmoil is her solid friend whom she treats with respect.

Chris let the sheet of paper fall free from his grasp. He never heard of Debra Towns before. What did she have to do with the T-Virus? Did that mean she at one time worked for Umbrella?

He shook his head. It didn't matter now. Umbrella was ancient history.

Reaching for the wooden knob he cast a glance behind him. The feeling of eyes watching him overwhelmed him. He yanked open the door and poked his head inside. Darkness bathed the space ahead and he inched toward it. As his eyes adjusted he couldn't help but wonder about Jill Valentine. Then there was Sheva Alomar. He couldn't forget her.

     3

Sheva dove under a fragment of rusted metal. It was just wide enough to ward off the swinging ax. When its wielder's face came into her sights she opened fire. Splats of blood painted the peeling wallpaper behind it and it dropped to its knees. She pumped two more searing bullets into the upper half of its head before it toppled over. Breathing hard she waited and then waited some more. When she was convinced it would not be getting up again she crawled out and stood. The massive heap quivered under her stare.

Wasting no time she squeezed past it into a narrow pathway. It slanted upward, loose rocks and dirt tumbling free as her boots turned it up with every step. She felt it in her bones. There was change afoot. Those creatures were becoming increasingly difficult to kill. As of now she feared her supply of ammunition was low. In a few more hours the last couple of boxes might be spent.

Her focus shifted. As she approached a slab of concrete her stride slowed. She told herself there was no reason for tears but as she pressed on the voice charged through her mind.

"Where is it you are going," it asked. "There is no tomorrow. There is only today. Do you think Chris Redfield will risk himself to save you? Perhaps he has already chosen his path."

Sheva took in a breath and exhaled sharply. Chris Redfield was not a selfish man. No one could convince her otherwise. In her time with him he had given a new definition to the word "partner" and she had looked up to his determination. Though she knew him for a short length of time she felt he was a lifetime friend.

"I don't have to listen to you," she replied.

At the top of her climb she saw an open expanse of road. She surveyed her route, making note of the staggering corpses that stalked it and sighed. There was never any end to it, she thought.

"There is an end to life," the voice added. "It breeds disappointment. It shelters the pain of the weak and offer hope for those who sin for the sake of sin."

Sheva shifted her weight to one side. Sin was a matter of opinion, she thought. Everyone had a different definition. She charged through the street. There was no need to waste ammo unless the situation proved treacherous, but as she weaved between and around the few walking bags of rotted flesh she easily managed a clean getaway.

Around the next bend she spied a set of stairs leading up to a boarded up door. She dashed across the narrow intersection to take them one by one. To her surprise the knob turned with a squeak, the door opened with a jerk and she pressed inside. A familiar scent drifted to her nostrils then. She paused in the smoky darkness. A gentle melody drew her further in. She had heard the tune only one other time in her life. Then it held no meaning but now as she listened she believed it was a sign though of what she did not quite understand and so she hesitated.

"What draws you to life," the voice droned on. "Does it give you extreme pleasure to take the role of a heroine? Does it stroke your ego knowing you can save or doom someone? Why continue to elude the truth?"

Sheva blinked hard. She could not afford an ill mental state. A good soldier operated with a clean mind and an undamaged soul. She took her first steps around a corner when something shifted along a wall. It straightened, turned and she saw shimmers of someone wet, heard it squish and watched as it extended an elaborate arm toward the ceiling.

"Death can be such a savory reward," she heard the voice whisper. "It can talk and walk these days but not without help. It takes a lot of effort to produce horror. I suppose you already know that. You have seen it firsthand, haven't you? But in your mind horror is committed by the actions of man. I doubt you could withstand the truth."

"The truth," she exhaled sharply.

Her stomach was in knots. The thing before her quivered and she pawed behind her to find the door knob when she realized it was gone. The door behind her was gone! She darted into an adjacent hallway and turned into a room. Once inside she slammed the door shut and moved a nearby dresser in front of it. She hardly believed that would suffice a good enough barricade but at least it would give her time to think.

She backed against a wall. Her quick look around the room revealed no windows or points of escape. She was trapped. With her gun raised at eye level she swallowed hard and waited.

"I want to know what you plan to do," the voice said.

Sheva closed her eyes momentarily. She did not need this now. Whatever it was speaking in her head had no place within her, but as she stared at the door she figured there was no point in ignoring it.

"Why don't you tell me what I can do," she said.

There was a pause and then a chuckle. "Believe in me."

She nearly lowered her gun at the statement. It was easy to believe in something she could not taste, touch or smell. Faith operated on the keen ability to give yourself over to a higher being regardless of its origin.