The air was heavy. Raccoon City, even in silence, seemed to scream in despair. A fine rain soaked the rubble and erased the footprints they left behind. Erick, Claire, and Leon walked quietly through the deserted streets, past abandoned cars and bodies piled on street corners.
"This place feels like a ghost town," Claire murmured, tightening the strap of her backpack.
Erick simply nodded, alert to every movement in the shadows. His senses were sharp — his enhanced hearing, gifted by the bat's instinct, picked up distant echoes: ragged breaths and dragging footsteps.
Leon scanned the area with cold, wary eyes. He still didn't trust Erick, but the man had proven himself in combat. That counted for something.
"We're close to a commercial area… If I'm not mistaken, there's a school or an orphanage nearby," Leon said, checking a wrinkled map he'd taken from the abandoned police station.
"Why there?" Erick asked, frowning.
"It's what's left. Radios are dead, evac zones have collapsed. We're walking blind—but something's still alive out here."
Leon didn't need to explain further. Erick could feel it too—something faint, hidden. A presence just beyond the noise.
They moved forward, stepping carefully over broken glass and soaked debris. Claire leaned closer to Erick, lowering her voice.
"You okay? Since the fight with that mutated dog, you've been... quiet."
Erick didn't answer right away. His mind was replaying every move he made during that fight. He had survived—but just barely. There was strength inside him, yes, but no control. No discipline.
"I'm just... processing," he finally said, avoiding her eyes.
(I can't keep relying on instinct and raw strength alone,) he thought grimly. Birkin is out there. And the Tyrant... sooner or later, we'll meet. If I want to survive, I'll need more than speed and claws. I need strategy. Timing. Calm.
Before he could dwell further, a low groan echoed through a nearby alley.
Zombies.
At least a dozen of them, emerging from the fog like a hungry tide.
"Shit! RUN!" Leon shouted, pulling Claire by the arm.
Erick had already leapt over a car, guided by instinct. A zombie tried to grab his leg, but he twisted midair and landed ahead, grabbing Claire's wrist to help her over.
They ran without thinking. No time to aim, no time to shoot—just run.
A right turn, then a left. Through a broken laundromat, over shattered glass, and out a side window, until finally... silence.
Breathing heavily inside an old covered parking lot, they heard something—a soft whimper. A sob. It came from behind a low car.
Leon raised his gun slowly.
"Someone there?" he asked, firm but cautious.
Claire stepped forward, recognizing the sound.
"Wait... that's..."
Then, a blonde girl, eyes wide with fear, emerged from behind the car. She wore a pink jacket stained with blood and a torn school backpack.
"Don't shoot! Please... I'm not one of them!" she said with a trembling voice.
Claire quickly knelt down, holding out her hand.
"It's okay... you're safe now. What's your name?"
"Sherry. Sherry Birkin."
Erick froze for a second. That name. That story.
(It's starting, isn't it?)
Sherry. The G-Virus. William Birkin.
(He'll come for her. No matter what. And then there's the Tyrant too—relentless, inhuman... just like I remember.)
Erick's hands clenched slightly. He couldn't afford to hesitate again.
(This time, I need to be faster. Smarter. Every move counts. Every breath matters. No more slipping.)
He looked at Sherry, trembling and alone, and then at Claire and Leon. The path ahead was dark, but now he knew for sure:
The real nightmare had only just begun.