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Leon and Noah raised their weapons in a synchronized arc, the cold steel of their muzzles catching the flickering orange light of the braziers. They moved toward the cubicle with the predatory grace of men who had seen too much death to be surprised, yet were still wary of what lay in the shadows.
As they drew closer, the massive shadow of the man at the desk loomed over them. Brian Irons sat slumped, his uniform—once a symbol of authority—now a filthy rag straining against his bloated frame. He looked like a heap of pale, over-fermented dough, heaving with a rhythmic, wet wriggle that set Noah's teeth on edge.
Then they saw the white fabric. The girl beneath him was petite, her white dress torn and stained. She was still, her limbs fixed in the unnatural rigidity of a corpse.
"You..." Claire's voice was a jagged blade of pure loathing. She pressed Sherry's face into her shoulder, shielding her from the depravity. "You are a disgusting piece of trash!"
Irons groaned, his body shifting with a sickening, liquid sound. He turned his head, a mask of blood smeared across his sagging cheeks. He looked at the guns, then at Claire, and his mouth split into an eerie, triumphant grin.
"I'm... going to die anyway..." he wheezed, his voice sounding like air escaping a punctured lung. "Before I go... I had to... enjoy myself..."
Before the final word left his lips, his body buckled.
"Heh... Heh-aaaaah—!"
The grin shattered into a mask of pure agony. Irons' body began to inflate, his skin stretching until the seams of his uniform gave way with a violent rip. He clawed at his chest, his fingers digging into his own fat.
Noah's eyes widened. He knew this stage of the infection. "Claire! Get back! Now!"
In the center of Irons' chest, the muscle peeled back like wet parchment. A massive, bloodshot eyeball squeezed out from the cavity, rolling frantically as the G-Virus took hold.
Claire didn't wait. She scooped Sherry up and bolted back into the main taxidermy room, her boots thundering against the stone.
BANG! BANG!
Leon and Noah opened fire, their rounds striking the writhing mass of the new G-Adult. But Irons was gone; in his place was a grayish-blue mountain of tumors and pulsing veins. His right arm swelled into a jagged claw, and the central eye locked onto them with a gaze of pure, chaotic hunger.
In the main room, Claire scanned the chaos of animal skeletons. She found a heavy oak table near a pile of discarded junk.
"Sherry, be brave!" Claire set her down and flipped the table with a grunt of effort. The heavy oak slammed into the floor, creating a small, reinforced corner. "Hide here. Don't come out until I come for you. I have to help Noah and Leon."
Sherry looked at Claire—at the woman who had become her anchor in this nightmare—and nodded. Her tiny hands were balled into fists, her blue eyes reflecting a sudden, sharp resolve.
Claire didn't waste a second. She snapped her M79 grenade launcher into place and sprinted back toward the fight. She rounded the corner just as the G-Infected let out an ear-splitting roar, preparing to lunge at Leon.
"Lin! Leon! Down!"
The two men dived for the floor.
BOOM—!!!
The fragmentation grenade struck the monster square in the chest. The explosion turned the small cubicle into a furnace of fire and shrapnel. The G-Adult wailed, its massive body blown back into the shadows. Dark green fluid sprayed the walls as it realized it was outmatched.
The monster turned, retreating into a dark drainage pipe in the rear of the room. But as it fled, several pulsating, maggot-like shapes plopped from its open wounds: G-Larvae. They hit the floor and scurried toward the shadows like lightning.
"Don't let them scatter!" Noah roared.
The air filled with the frantic pop of handgun fire. They wove a net of lead, popping the larvae before they could vanish. But Leon's eyes caught a flash of movement.
"There's one more! It's heading for Sherry!"
The blood drained from Claire's face. They bolted for the main room, their hearts in their throats.
Behind the overturned table, Sherry watched the gap between the floor and the wood.
The G-Larva was fast—a pale, wet thing with needle-teeth and a scorpion tail. It lunged through the gap, hissing.
Fear hit Sherry like an icy wave, but then she remembered Claire's face. She's fighting. They're all fighting for me.
The fear didn't go away, but it stopped being the boss of her. Her hand closed around a heavy, oak beer mug left on a nearby shelf.
As the monster lunged, Sherry didn't scream. She didn't hide. She swung the heavy mug with every ounce of strength in her small body.
Squelch!
The sound was wet and final. The larva was reduced to a smear of green slime and broken chitin. A drop of the warm fluid splashed near Sherry's eye, stinging slightly. She didn't cry. She just wiped it away with her sleeve, her jaw set.
When Claire, Noah, and Leon burst into the room, they stopped dead.
They saw the table. They saw the shattered remains of the larva. And they saw Sherry, sitting there with a bloody oak mug, looking like the smallest warrior in Raccoon City.
Claire's voice broke as she knelt. "Sherry! You... you're amazing."
Leon let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Good job, kid. You're tougher than I was at twenty."
Noah knelt beside her, a look of genuine respect in his eyes. "Incredible work, Sherry. Truly."
The praise hit her all at once. The "warrior" vanished, replaced by a shy ten-year-old whose face turned bright red. She dropped the mug and dove into Claire's arms, hiding her face while her ears burned scarlet.
Leon looked at the dark tunnel where Irons had vanished, then at his companions. "Let's get out of this hellhole. We've got a city to escape."
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