The storm had stopped at some point while they weren't watching. Heavy clouds still pressed low over Raccoon City, and the air hung damp and close. Shallow puddles filmed the streets. The whole dead city had gone quiet, broken only by the occasional distant shriek of a zombie - far fewer than during the downpour.
Inside the bar, the three of them had finished regrouping. Brad's color had improved; the hand holding his gun no longer shook. Jill had worked through every weapon and round of ammunition with methodical care, her eyes steady. Ryan gripped the Desert Eagle and scanned the doorway, checking for clusters of the dead outside.
"Rain's done." Jill kept her voice low, already shifting into position. "We move. Subway station, same as planned."
Ryan nodded and went to drag the bar counter away from the door. Before they left, he pulled out a spare lightweight shotgun and two boxes of shells and held them out to Brad. "Take these. More firepower."
Brad took the gun and ammunition. Some of the tension went out of his shoulders. He checked the chamber, then nodded.
They went out low and fast, hugging the walls. The wet pavement was treacherous underfoot. Abandoned cars sat at angles along the curb, windshields smashed, broken glass and debris covering the road. The air carried smoke and rot.
They were halfway down the block when the sound hit them - a helicopter, low and close.
A rescue chopper broke through the cloud cover and swept overhead, its markings bright against the gray sky. The PA system crackled:
"This is Search and Rescue. All survivors proceed to the nearest high-rise rooftop immediately for evacuation. Repeat - proceed to the rooftop for evacuation."
Brad's head snapped up. His whole face changed. "That's a rescue helicopter! If we get to a rooftop, we can get out of here!"
Jill watched it circle, then looked down the open street ahead. She didn't take long.
"That building over there - rooftop's got a clear view, enough room to land. We go up. If there's a shot at evacuation, we take it."
Ryan said nothing.
He could see how it would likely play out. The chopper probably wouldn't make it through a full evacuation - too exposed, too easy a target. But Brad was barely holding together, and Jill had made her call. Arguing would only fracture the group. And the rooftop wasn't a bad position regardless - high ground, good sight lines. Even if the rescue went wrong, it beat standing in the open down here.
They cut toward the nearest residential building. The stairwell was dark and narrow. A few zombies lurched out from the shadows, drawn by the footsteps. Ryan put two rounds through them, clean headshots, barely breaking stride. Jill covered the flank. Brad kept his new shotgun up and watched their backs, steadier than Ryan expected.
They reached the roof access door without incident.
Brad pushed through first. Cool air hit them. The rooftop was flat and open, visibility in every direction, and the rescue helicopter was banking toward them, rotors growing louder.
"It's coming!" He waved with both arms, nearly laughing. Days of tension unraveling at once. "We're getting out of here!"
Jill moved to the roof's edge and raised one arm to signal the landing zone.
Then a streak of fire crossed the sky.
A rocket. Fast and straight, trailing a bright tail.
It hit the helicopter dead center.
The explosion rolled across the rooftops - one massive crack, then billowing smoke, then the wreck spinning down into a distant block in pieces. Gone in seconds.
Brad stood frozen. Everything that had been in his face a moment ago was just gone.
"Umbrella." Jill's grip tightened on her shotgun. She was already scanning the rooftops. "They're cutting off every way out."
Wind moved across the roof, carrying ash and the smell of burning.
Then the footsteps started.
Slow. Heavy. Coming from the far end of the roof.
Each one landed like something too large for the space it occupied.
The figure that emerged from the shadows was worse than before. Its right side burned raw over a wide patch, the left shoulder shredded where the muscle had torn away. Bullet marks pocked its skull - all of it damage from the apartment, from the ambush Ryan and Jill had caught it in.
Inside that simple, ruined head, something like a memory was playing on repeat:
I was just walking. Going to find the STARS people. Normal day.
Then - BOOM.
Hurt so bad. My whole head rang. Smoke coming off me. Bones nearly cracking.
Who did that?
I looked up and saw him.
Him.
So angry. SO ANGRY.
Forgot about the STARS people. Only remembered him. He hit me the hardest. Hurt me the most.
Kept walking. Kept falling. Wound opening, closing, opening again.
Walked into a pole. Stepped into a ditch. Some little zombie grabbed my leg.
But I smelled him. Followed the smell all the way here.
Found him.
Going to kill him. Going to kill the bad human who hit me.
Its clouded eyes locked onto Ryan. The rage in them was dumb and absolute.
Brad stumbled back a step, face gone white. His hands clamped around the shotgun.
Jill clocked the wounds and understood immediately. It had followed them. Not the plan, not the city - them. Ryan specifically.
Ryan stepped forward, putting himself between it and the other two. The Desert Eagle came up level and steady, his expression flat and cold.
No retreat. Time to fight.