Footsteps echoed gently around the empty mansion, red carpeting dampening the sound as she moved from the tile to the rug. Outside the storm was only growing worse, and a single crack of thunder caused the girl to jump, a gasp filling her lungs as she raised both hands to hold the pistol in her hands towards the window. Rebecca fully expected to see the silhouette of a monster outside of the mansion, or even the leeches slamming themselves against the glass, but all she was met with was another flash of lightning before another roar of thunder reached her ears.

“Keep it together, Chambers . . .” Mumbling to herself as she lowered the weapon, the field medic turned her eyes upstairs. A hand lifted off of the gun in favor of holding onto the dog tags on her neck, the feeling of the metal offering a small sort of comfort in the fact that she had at least been able to help one lost soul that night. Along the back wall was a large mural, but from her spot she could barely make out what it was depicting. Her eyes didn’t linger, anyways, moving to the balconies to ensure no one was watching her. In truth, it felt as if she was the only one who had made it to the mansion, but she was trying to tell herself that at least someone had to have made it.

“ENRICO?? KENNETH??” Her words were said in only a slightly-raised tone, but in the empty marble-and-wood room, they seemed to echo throughout the entire mansion, the brunette wincing slightly. They had a mission, sure, but at this point, the 18-year-old felt as if getting everyone home safely was more important. Half of their team was dead, and after the horrors she had experienced on that train and in that lab, she knew that they were in way over their heads. None of them had been prepared for what they had faced, and almost everyone had paid the price for it. After all, how could they have prepared for a zombie outbreak and mutated monsters deep in the woods??

Another crack of thunder sounded off, but this time was accompanied by the sound of a door creaking. Instantly the woman turned around again, another gasp filling her lungs as she watched the front door slowly push open. A figure was illuminated between the flashes of lightning, and for a moment, she felt her heart skip a beat. She had told him to leave, that she would tell everyone he was dead, but she would recognize that arm tattoo anywhere.

“Billy?? What are you–”

And then, as he limped into the light, she saw the rotting pieces of flesh that filled the spaces between his tattoo. His throat was lined with bitemarks, and as he stepped closer, she saw his eyes were milked over, a low growl leaving what was left of his mouth. Billy Coen truly was dead – and then he was undead.

“Billy, no . . .” Stepping backwards, water started to line the bottom of her eyes, the medic slowly stepping backwards as her new friend continued to pursue forwards. It wasn’t long, though, before she tripped on the bottom of the steps, and with a grunt of pain, her back and head slammed into the staircase. Her gun fell out of her hand, skittering across the floor as he continued forward, arms outstretched towards her as fear and guilt overcame her. She could’ve saved him, could’ve brought him with her to try and clear his name, but she had told him to leave, and in doing so, had sentenced him to death.

Unable to climb up the stairs, frozen in her spot, she shook her head, watching helplessly as he closed in on her.

“Billy, I’m so sorry. Billy . . . Billy!! BILLY NO!!”

Sitting up with a gasp, Rebecca looked over at the clock on her desk. The numbers 4:43 a.m. flashed at her, and glancing down at the papers in front of her, she wondered just what time she had fallen asleep. She knew it couldn’t have been too late, given how Jill’s jacket was suddenly draped over her shoulders, and as she reached up to pull it closer, she took a deep breath. That night was one that haunted her nightmares often, but never had she dreamt that Coen had attacked her. It was strange for him to suddenly be haunting her after so many years, but as she gathered the papers in front of her, his dog tags still hanging from her neck, the 35-year-old made a mental note to search through the newspapers in the morning for any evidence that he was still alive, despite her official report that he had perished in the explosion.

She just hoped that she would be able to find the smallest bit of hope for her old friend.