POV Clair
The streets were too quiet.
Claire moved through them anyway, Myrel's hand in hers, the girl walking close because proximity meant something like safety. Behind them, Kendo carried Emma. The girl's arm was around his neck, her breathing shallow but steady. Better than two hours ago. Not good, but better.
Ben was behind Kendo, talking.
"The thing about Irons is nobody actually saw him give orders," Ben said, his voice carrying down the empty street. "He just existed. Made decisions and people followed because they were scared. But nobody questioned him. That's the thing about the orphanage—"
"Ben," Claire said. Not harsh. Just a name.
"What? I'm just saying the orphanage isn't what people think it is."
They passed a storefront. Glass shattered. A mannequin lay on its side in the window display, one arm twisted backward. Claire took it in with a quick scan — exits, cover, visibility. Muscle memory from the last few hours that she didn't know she had.
She'd never fought anything before today.
"Come on," she said.
Myrel followed. Emma shifted in Kendo's arms. Ben kept pace, his eyes darting to the buildings and the shadows between them like he was expecting movement.
The next street was worse. A car sat abandoned in the middle of the road, doors open, driver's seat empty. Blood on the steering wheel. The smell hit them before anything else — decay and chemical burn mixing in the humid air.
"That's from the facility," Ben said. "The smell. I remember it from the basement levels where they kept—"
"We need to keep moving," Kendo said.
It wasn't loud. It was just a fact, stated with enough certainty that Ben went quiet.
Claire kept them moving. Three blocks to the orphanage. Maybe less.
The next street had bodies.
Not infected. Not anymore. Old. The corpses had been here long enough that the flies had moved on to other things. One lay across the sidewalk, the skeleton visible through what was left of the skin. Another was slumped against a building wall, arms at its sides like it had sat down to rest and never gotten up.
Myrel's grip tightened on Claire's hand.
"Don't look," Claire said.
"I'm not," Myrel said. But she was.
They were a block away from the intersection that would put them in view of the orphanage building when the first one came out of an alley.
Not infected. Not exactly. Its jaw didn't open right. Split too far at the hinge. When it saw them the sound that came out was wet and clicking.
Kendo moved without hesitation. He set Emma down against a storefront window, his movements economical, and pulled the shotgun from his back. The shot was loud in the street. Too loud. The thing's chest opened and it went down, its body twitching once before going still.
The sound echoed off the buildings.
Myrel made a sound — not quite a scream, more like a gasp cut off by her own hand.
Claire was already moving, pulling Myrel forward. "Keep going. Don't look at it."
But Myrel looked. They always looked.
Kendo picked Emma up again. They moved faster now. The city around them felt different — not safer, just different. Smaller somehow. More watched.
Ben didn't say anything. That was worse than the talking.
The second encounter was two blocks later.
They came around a corner and it was just there, blocking most of the street. Its spine showed through the skin in places, the vertebrae pressing outward at wrong angles. It didn't move toward them. It didn't move at all.
Claire stopped. Pulled Myrel back.
"Go around," Kendo said. He was already looking for another path. "Left, through the building."
The entrance to the office building was dark. But it was a path. Claire went through first, keeping Myrel close. Behind them Kendo was still holding Emma, still moving, still functional. But his breathing had gotten heavier.
They moved through the building fast — ground floor, through a back corridor that smelled like mold, and out onto another street. The corpse was blocked. They weren't.
The next street had windows. Downtown. The kind of place Claire would have driven through a week ago without thinking about it. She could see her own reflection in the glass — dirt, blood that wasn't hers. She looked away.
"The orphanage is through here," Ben said. He'd recovered. The talking was back. "But there's something you should know about Chief Irons. He wasn't just in charge of the precinct. He had connections to Umbrella. I don't have proof, but—"
"Why would you have proof?" Claire asked.
"What?"
"You keep talking about things you don't actually know. You're guessing. You're scared and you're trying to sound like you understand what's happening, but you don't."
Ben didn't answer. But he stopped talking.
Kendo glanced at Claire. Just for a moment. Just enough to acknowledge that she'd said something true.
The orphanage building was recognizable because of how normal it looked.
They came around the final corner and there it was — a brick structure, faded paint, windows boarded over from the inside. Everything sealed. Maintained. Unlike the rest of the city, this section wasn't in chaos. Someone had taken care of it.
Claire's urgency shifted into something sharper. Sherry had been here. Sherry was somewhere inside.
Myrel felt it. The girl's hand tightened again.
"Is Sherry in there?" Myrel asked.
"Yes," Claire said. She didn't know if that was true, but she needed it to be true. "We're going to find her and we're going to get out."
The main entrance had a keypad. Electronic lock. Power still running. But the door was open. Not wide. Just slightly ajar. Not broken. Just unlocked and left.
Kendo looked at it without moving.
"That shouldn't be open," Ben said.
"No," Kendo said.
Claire pulled Myrel closer. Emma made a small sound. Pain or recognition, Claire couldn't tell. The girl was fading.
Kendo reached out and pushed the door open the rest of the way.
The lobby was dim. Emergency lighting only. Institutional. The kind of space designed to be functional and nothing else. A reception desk. Bulletin boards. All of it neat. All of it wrong because of how neat it was.
Something had moved through here already.
And left.
Nothing moved.
That didn't help.
Nothing moved.
And in the hallway beyond the lobby, slumped against the wall near an open office door, was Chief Irons.
What was left of him.
His uniform was shredded at the torso. The wall behind him was painted with blood. His head tilted back. Mouth open. The pistol lay on the floor near his hand, never used.
Blood ran past him. Not pooled. Dragged.
Toward the back.
Claire stopped. The hallway was quiet. Just the sound of Emma's breathing, which had gotten worse. Just the sound of Ben not talking.
Irons hadn't moved in a very long time.
From deeper in the building, something small made a sound.
She didn't move. Didn't look away. Didn't let go of Myrel's hand.
Behind them, the door to the outside was still open.
No footsteps anywhere. No bodies shifting in other rooms. Just that sound from deeper inside. Small. Wrong in a specific way.
Claire didn't look at the office. Didn't check the other corridors. Didn't scan for threats.
She looked toward where the sound had come from.
"Sherry," she said.
She moved toward the sound. This time without checking the rest of the building.
Kendo followed. Behind him, Ben stayed close to the girls.