The church doors closed behind us, sealing Lily inside with the other survivors.
Alice hadn't spoken since we'd left the garden. Her face was stone, her movements mechanical—the response of someone who'd seen too much death and didn't have the capacity for more grief.
"We need to keep moving," I said. "Rain and the others are waiting. We have to—"
"How many more?"
"What?"
"How many more mothers?" Alice's voice cracked. "How many more children? How many more gardens and gunshots and lies that are kinder than truth?"
"I don't know."
"Then why are we doing this?" She turned to face me, and I saw the fractures in her composure—the accumulated weight of everything she'd witnessed threatening to break through. "We can't save them. We can't even save ourselves. What's the point?"
"The point is we try." I grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to meet my eyes. "Every person we help, every survivor we guide out of this city—that matters. Sarah's daughter is alive because we stopped. The people in that church have a chance because someone organized the evacuation. We can't save everyone, but we can save some."
"It's not enough."
"It's never enough. But it's what we have."
Alice's breath shuddered out of her. For a moment, I thought she might collapse—might finally let the weight crush her. Then the steel returned, harder than before.
"Then let's find the others. Figure out what comes next."
We returned to the SUV. The streets had grown more dangerous since we'd entered the church—more infected wandering between buildings, more fires spreading unchecked, more screams from directions we couldn't help. My senses mapped threats constantly, guiding us around the worst concentrations.
"The hospital is compromised," I said as Alice drove. "Too many infected in too small a space. If we're going to evacuate survivors, we need a better staging area."
"The service roads we used to enter? Could they handle vehicle convoys?"
"Maybe. The maintenance access is narrow, but there might be secondary routes through the industrial district."
"So we scout alternatives while searching for Rain's position?"
"That's the plan."
The radio crackled—civilian frequencies, mostly static, but occasionally voices breaking through. Survivors calling for help, emergency broadcasts that were hours out of date, the dying gasps of a city's communication infrastructure.
Then a familiar voice.
"—Cole, this is Rain. If you're monitoring this frequency, respond. We're mobile, heading toward your last known position."
I grabbed the radio. "Rain. We're here. What's your status?"
"One, Kaplan, and me. We abandoned the safehouse when we heard about the outbreak. Figured you'd need backup." Static crackled. "Where are you?"
"Eastern district, near St. Michael's Church. We found a survivor enclave, organized evacuation. But Umbrella's making things complicated."
"How complicated?"
"They're not here to rescue anyone. They're here to contain. We saw helicopters—sweep patterns, not search and rescue. And the quarantine checkpoints are shooting people who try to leave."
A pause. Then: "We need to meet. Coordinate. You said St. Michael's Church?"
"Two blocks north of Raccoon General. You'll see the steeple."
"Twenty minutes. Don't die before we get there."
"Working on it."
The radio clicked off. Alice was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"What?" I asked.
"You told them about the checkpoints. The shooting."
"They needed to know."
"You didn't tell them everything."
She was right. I hadn't mentioned what I knew—or suspected—about Umbrella's endgame. The nuclear option that loomed over this city like an invisible sword. The deadline that was counting down whether we acknowledged it or not.
"Some things are better saved for face-to-face conversations."
"And some things are better not said at all?"
"Alice—"
"You know more than you're telling me." Her voice was calm, but her eyes held something harder. "You've known since the beginning. The way you navigate, the decisions you make—you're not just surviving, you're predicting. Like you've seen all this before."
The accusation hung between us. She deserved an answer—deserved the truth that I'd been hiding since I woke up in this body. But the truth was impossible. Transmigration, movies, a fictional world that had become horrifyingly real—none of it would make sense, and all of it would raise questions I couldn't answer.
"I have... instincts," I said finally. "Information that I can't explain how I know. Things that help me anticipate what's coming."
"What kind of things?"
"Umbrella's playbook. Their containment protocols, their response patterns. The way they think about acceptable losses."
"And this city? Do your instincts tell you what happens to Raccoon City?"
I looked out the window at the burning skyline. At the smoke and fire and death that was only going to get worse.
"Nothing good."
Alice didn't push further. Maybe she understood that some questions were better left unasked. Or maybe she was just too tired to care.
We reached the church as the others arrived—Rain's vehicle pulling into the lot from the opposite direction, battered but intact. The reunion was brief, professional. Hugs would wait. Survival came first.
"Matt." Rain's first word, her priority clear. "Any word?"
"Umbrella has him. We don't know where yet." I pulled up the mental map I'd been building. "There are secondary facilities throughout the city—backup sites for the Hive, probably. If they wanted to keep him alive, they'd take him somewhere with proper containment."
"Then we find those facilities." One's voice was flat, determined. "One by one if we have to."
"First we need to understand what we're dealing with." I led them toward the church, where we could plan without immediate threat. "The city's falling faster than anyone expected. Umbrella's not here to help—they're here to contain, and their definition of containment includes eliminating witnesses."
"You're sure about that?"
"I'm sure." The memory of Sarah's face flashed through my mind—the gray pallor, the fading eyes, the steady voice as she asked for the gun. "They're not going to let anyone out of this city who might talk about what they saw."
The church's interior was crowded but calm. The priest had established order through sheer force of personality, organizing survivors into groups, assigning tasks, maintaining the illusion that everything would be okay. It wouldn't, but sometimes illusions were necessary.
We found a quiet corner in the vestry, away from the main congregation. Maps spread across a table—city streets, evacuation routes, the locations of known Umbrella facilities.
"Industrial district," Kaplan said, pointing to a cluster of buildings on the eastern edge. "I pulled some data before we left the safehouse. Umbrella has at least three secondary sites within city limits."
"Security?"
"Unknown. But if they're following standard protocols, each site would have a skeleton crew plus automated defenses. They're designed to survive containment failures, not full-scale assaults."
"Then we hit them." Rain checked her weapon. "One by one, until we find Matt."
"We're talking about secured facilities with unknown defensive capabilities." One's tactical mind was already working. "We can't just storm them blind."
"Then we don't go blind." I looked at the map, tracing routes between facilities. "We scout, we plan, we execute. Just like the Hive, but smarter."
"The Hive almost killed us."
"Almost doesn't count." I met their eyes—Rain's determination, One's skepticism, Kaplan's nervousness. "We've survived everything they've thrown at us so far. This is no different."
The church bell rang—a warning signal the priest had established. Something was happening outside.
We moved to the windows, peering through stained glass at the street beyond. Black vehicles were rolling past—unmarked, armored, carrying soldiers who weren't wearing any military insignia I recognized.
Umbrella. Here to "contain."
"We need to move," I said. "Before they lock down the area."
"What about the survivors here?" Kaplan gestured at the congregation. "If Umbrella finds them—"
"They'll find them whether we're here or not. The best thing we can do is draw attention away, give them time to hide."
It was the right tactical decision. It was also abandonment dressed in military logic. I tried not to think about Lily, clutching her bear in the nave, waiting for a mother who would never return.
We slipped out the church's rear exit, into a city that was rapidly becoming a war zone.
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