Resident Evil Outbreak Fanfic

A/N: I've decided that I'm probably going to pretty up the first three chapters of this story since I feel like I've grown as an author in the three years since I have written this piece. If anything it will be what I try to use as my best foot forward when going to Simon and Schuster with a proposition (if I ever get any near that far).

The night was cool, a soft breeze had been blowing for about an hour, and a solitary street lamp gave the only light in the area. George looked up at the stars that were still visible. Time seemed to slow down ever since that night with his wife. No, that wasn’t right it was his ex-wife and he knew it. For some reason nothing seemed to work after she left. He couldn’t think straight, he couldn’t function as well at work.

Number on surgeon in Raccoon my ass. George couldn’t help but put the blame all on himself. It was mostly his fault. Had he not been focused so much on work, she might not have left him. The self-hate started to take over again. George forced the thoughts of his ex-wife from his mind, lest he fall deeper into the spiral of depression he was already in.

He sighed as he put his hand into his pocket and took out a quarter. His thumb moved back and forth across the face of the coin, feeling the raised emblem on the coin. Casually, he flicked it in the air with his thumb.

Heads I go home and plop down in front of the T.V., tails I go and get drunk somewhere. It was pitiful to George to leave his fate up to some piece of metal not worth more than a pack of gum, but this is what he was reduced to. For a split second, the quarter seemed to hover in the air, the picture of George Washington laughing at him. Thankfully, it was over just as quick as it came, the quarter fell into George’s palm and he instantly slapped his palm over the back of his other hand.

The bar was noisy, but George didn’t really care. He sipped his scotch and twirled the glass around in the air, watching the ice cubes chase each other around in their prison of glass. George couldn’t help but feel some sort of connection between these incarcerated ice cubes and himself. Their prison was glass, his was depression. A small smile spread across his face as he took another sip. He felt his face flush and his body get hot. All the medical knowledge in the world wasn’t required to realize that he was slightly inebriated.

The bartender must’ve seen this because he came over to George. “Look, I can’t legally serve you anymore, because it looks like you’ve got enough in you already.”

George smiled and nodded, no sense in arguing a moot point. It didn’t matter anyway, he had half-a-glass remaining and that would be enough if he drank it slowly. As the bartender left, the door’s bell dinged. The man in the door way was clearly more intoxicated than George was, but something about him was still wrong. The bartender looked at the man funny and threw the towel he was using over his shoulder. Quickly at first, then slowly the bartender moved to his new patron. Caution was etched in his demeanor.

“Can I help you sir?” The bartender asked as he went to touch the man’s shoulder. Right before the bartender’s hand made contact, the man’s head shot up. Drool dripped from his rotting lips. Blood cascaded from a gaping hole in his cheek, his hair was matted with clumps of blood and brain matter. A loud moan escaped from his mouth before lunged at the bartender and sunk his teeth into the soft of his neck. Frantically, the bartender shoved the man out the door, taking a large chunk of the bartender’s flesh with him.

Someone screamed and the waitress ran over to the bartender, who already had the towel on his fresh wound. The white towel turned a dark red by the time the waitress was able to get another towel. The police officer who was sitting next to George started to talk.

“What the hell was that?” He said as he stood from his bar stool. “Alright is anyone here a doctor? We need to get this man medical attention.”

George downed the rest of his scotch and stood. His legs didn’t work at first and he felt as if he was walking through water. Regardless, George couldn’t let a wounded man be. He raised a finger into the air. “I am.”

The police officer shot a glance at George. “Are you…capable to help him?”

“I’m not too drunk.” George said as he patted the police officer on the shoulder and walked over to the bartender.

“What’s your name?” George’s bed side manner was second to none and even drunk he knew how to calm a patient down.

“W…Will.” He was frightened, as he should be. George had to work quickly, but the haze was taking over. He shook his head and took the towel off of his neck. The wound was just between serious and superficial. Thankfully, he should make it as long as they could get some antibiotics in him before it was too late and dress the wound.

“Okay, can you get me some…Penicillin and rubbing alcohol perhaps?” George addressed the waitress without looking up from Will. She nodded and ran behind a little partition that hid the bathrooms from view. All George could do was apply pressure to Will’s neck, trying to suppress the steady flow of blood. His hands quickly became sticky with Will’s blood. To George’s astonishment, Will’s breathing started to regulate. His blood started to slow and even clot.

“What the…” George started to sober as his mind began to race. He took his hands away from Will’s neck and began inspecting the wound. Surprisingly, the blood had clotted in parts of the wound but that wasn’t the weird part. It actually started to darken. From a bright red, it started to take on a darker red color, almost a brown. Solid chunks of what was supposed to be blood fell out of the hole in Will’s neck.

George lifted Will’s skin at the edges of the wound and tried to get a better look at what was happening. George’s eyes went wide and he shot up and backed away as a black goo squirted out from the opening George made. The waitress came running from behind the partition with rags and a few bottles. She wasn’t able to hold them for long as she dropped everything in her hands and screamed.

A loud –thud- echoed in the bar as two men banged on the window. They looked similar to the first man, skin hanging loosely, limbs missing or hanging by a thread of muscle fiber. George looked to the police officer, who looked just as frightened as everyone else. What was going on? Who were these people? Why was Will’s wound healing the way it was?

Questions raced through George’s mind, but everything was calmed as Will collapsed to the floor. George took a few steps back and watched the now lifeless corpse. It lay there, unmoving. The thuds from the people outside matched up with the beating of George’s heart, which stopped for an instant as soon as Will began to moan and stand up. His face was pale, drained of the blood that had just been there moments before.

What was going on?