The thick fog showed no signs of dispersing; the entirety of Raccoon City seemed to be held in the death grip of a giant grey palm, blotting out every trace of daylight. A damp, putrid stench permeated the air, and every breath felt cold and stinging.
After leaving the Orphanage, Raymond followed the original plan, leading the convoy to continue search and rescue operations in the western part of the city. The streets along the way were a chaotic mess. Abandoned vehicles blocked the roads in every direction, and the doors and windows of shops on both sides were shattered. Debris and bloodstains were scattered across the ground, while low-panting, staggering shadows occasionally drifted through the mist, transforming the once-familiar district into a deathtrap where every step invited danger.
This time, Lear no longer limited himself to providing cover from key positions as he had before. Instead, he took the initiative to walk at the front flank of the group, treating the Infected that constantly appeared along the route as the perfect opportunity to practice his live-combat marksmanship. In the cramped terrain of the Orphanage, his shooting skills were such that he might have accidentally hit his own people.
His marksmanship had always been a last-minute makeshift skill, barely reaching a passing grade, but his mindset was exceptionally calm. He refused to let any opportunity to fire pass him by. With every shot, he deliberately adjusted his breathing rhythm and wrist stability. To others, these were man-eating monsters, but in Lear's eyes, they were merely slow-moving live targets with fixed trajectories—the best possible tools for improving his shooting intuition and combat prowess.
After several rounds of clearing, his once slightly awkward movements became noticeably smoother. His breathing and trigger control grew increasingly synchronized, and his accuracy rose steadily. From initially being unable to hit anything at long range to eventually landing seven or eight out of ten shots, Lear could clearly feel his marksmanship growing rapidly through this life-and-death practical experience.
The officers coordinated their efforts to purge the area throughout the journey, rescuing several more scattered survivors—a panicked middle-aged man, a mother clutching her child tightly, and a grey-haired old man with mobility issues. The already cramped police cars were soon packed to capacity. Cries, heavy breathing, and suppressed prayers mingled together, filling the small space. Fear and bewilderment were written on everyone's faces; it was as if, overnight, this familiar city had completely descended into a living hell.
As the convoy continued toward the heart of the city, the roads became narrower and the buildings more densely packed. The density of the Infected rose sharply, and low growls echoed one after another, causing the danger factor to multiply. Raymond's brow furrowed deeper and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. His voice was heavy: "Further ahead is the Commercial District. It used to be the most crowded area; the situation inside will only be worse now."
"We can't go any further."
"We have already saved a lot of people, most of whom are children and the elderly with almost no ability to protect themselves," Lear said, his tone steady and his logic clear. "If we continue deeper and get surrounded by a large swarm of the Infected, the vehicles will be trapped and our ammunition will run out. When that happens, not only will we fail to save new survivors, but even those we have already rescued will be plunged back into a death trap."
Raymond fell into silence. As the Deputy Chief of the police force, his instinct was to fulfill his duty and save as many people as possible. However, the cruel reality lay right before them, and every word Lear said addressed the problems they were currently facing. "The building structure of the Police Station is solid, the doors and windows are easy to barricade, and there are pre-stocked supplies and medicine," Lear continued his calm analysis. "Returning immediately to block off the main gates, set up defensive positions, inventory supplies, and soothe the survivors is the only correct choice. Staying out here for a directionless search and rescue will only waste what's left of our strength for nothing."
Raymond took a deep breath, a flicker of struggle passing through his eyes before being replaced by resolve. He picked up the vehicle's walkie-talkie and issued instructions to all vehicles in a steady voice: "All units, look alive. Cease search and rescue immediately. Everyone turn around and return to the Police Station. Repeat, return to the Police Station and establish a defensive stronghold. As for anyone else... all we can do now is pray they find their own way to the station."
Uniform responses crackled over the walkie-talkie. The convoy slowly ground to a halt as each vehicle turned around one by one, embarking on the return journey.
Inside the vehicles, when the survivors heard the words "return to the Police Station," a faint glimmer of light finally appeared in their previously hopeless, hollow eyes. At the very least, that was a place with police, high walls, and a temporary sense of security.
Lear sat back in the passenger seat and lightly flexed his wrist. After the kills and practice throughout this journey, his control over firearms had noticeably improved, and his aim was becoming increasingly steady. This disaster was hell for everyone else, but for him, it was a rare, high-intensity crucible of real combat training.
Beside him, Sherry remained huddled quietly in her seat, her small frame almost sinking into the upholstery as she clutched that tattered little bear. From time to time, she would look up and steal a glance at Lear; her eyes no longer held only fear, but a growing sense of reliance and peace. Feeling the car turn around to head back, she hesitated for a moment before timidly reaching out a cold, soft little hand to gently grasp Lear's finger.
That tiny bit of pressure carried a child's unique blend of anxiety and trust.
Lear lowered his head slightly to meet her timid blue eyes and gave her hand a gentle squeeze, silently telling her: Don't be afraid, we're going back.
The police car drove smoothly through the thick white fog. Scattered Infected along the way were dealt with efficiently by the team members, as the convoy refused to be lured into prolonged engagement. The once bustling and prosperous streets were now reduced to deathly silence and desolation; the occasional low growl was quickly drowned out by the roar of the engines.
Ten minutes later, the familiar Raccoon City Police Department slowly emerged through the mist. Its heavy masonry structure and towering clock tower looked exceptionally solid and reliable amidst the ruins.
As soon as the car came to a stop, Lear hopped out first to clear the perimeter. He then turned and reached out his hand to Sherry. The little girl didn't hesitate; she grabbed his hand tightly and carefully hopped down. She remained quiet, sticking close behind Lear's heels.
Raymond directed the officers to bring the survivors into the Police Station Lobby in groups to count heads and distribute water and simple food. Cries and whispers intertwined, but because they now had a place of refuge, the voices held less despair and more of the relief of having survived.
Lear led Sherry away from the crowd to a relatively quiet spot in the corner of the Main Hall.
"It's safe here for now. No monsters can get in," he knelt down, softening his voice as much as possible to look her in the eye. "Sit here for a while. Don't wander off. I'll be nearby."
Sherry hugged her bear and nodded gently, her voice as faint as a mosquito. "...Thank you." Her voice was soft and delicate.
Just as Lear was about to say more, a light set of footsteps approached from the side.
A girl of about the same age with small pigtails saw Lear and ran over happily. It was Kendo's daughter, Emma. Seeing Sherry, the young girl generously reached out her hand.
"My name is Emma," the girl initiated.
"Sherry," she replied in a small voice after looking at Lear.
The two children just stood there quietly, looking at each other without much to say. Yet, because of their shared experience and similar age, a silent sense of closeness blossomed between them.
Lear felt a slight sense of relief watching this. With someone to accompany her, Sherry wouldn't stay trapped in fear and loneliness.
He stood up and said softly to both of them, "You two play here. Don't go far, and call me if you need anything."
Sherry looked up at him and gave a soft "Mm." Emma then pulled Sherry along toward a nearby lounge.
Lear turned and walked toward Raymond to help arrange the defenses and reinforce the doors and windows.
Only occasionally would he instinctively look back toward the corner.
Two tiny figures were huddled together. Emma was whispering something while Sherry listened quietly, nodding every now and then. Sunlight slanted in through the window, falling gently upon them.
(Translated by yourtl.app)
------------------------
Racoon city map
Police station map
------------------------
A new chapter will be out every day, so feel free to check back tomorrow. If you'd like to read ahead, there are currently 30 extra chapters available on my Patreon (AstartesTL) and supporting there helps me keep this going. Either way, thanks for reading.
If you're enjoying the story, power stones are always appreciated, it's a good way to show your support, and if enough come in, I'll drop bonus chapters on top of the daily schedule.