[TWD x Resident Evil] — Chapter 572 - Taken Down to the Basement

Her red motorcycle jacket cut a bright slash across the gray, dead street.

Claire twisted the throttle.

The engine's roar bounced through the hollow city.

Her auburn ponytail whipped behind her.

Her name was Claire.

Just before the end of the world, she'd been an ordinary college student stressing over credits every single day.

When the outbreak hit, she'd been holed up in her apartment gnawing on a tasteless frozen pizza.

At first, her brother Chris, who served in S.T.A.R.S., could still reach her occasionally.

Every call was the same: lock the doors and windows, don't go anywhere.

Then the calls stopped.

Nothing came through at all.

People were saying the police at Fort Benning had been wiped out to the last man. That Chris must have died in the bioterror disaster too.

Claire didn't believe it.

She knew her brother too well. That bear of a man.

There was no way he'd go out without a sound.

Even if the earth itself was ending, Chris would be the last one standing.

She packed her bag and grabbed the revolver he'd left her for protection.

She was going to find him.

Even if all that was left was a body, she had to see it with her own eyes.

What she didn't know was that Chris, with Leon's help, had uncovered the dirty truth about Umbrella Corporation. To keep his only sister from being dragged into that mess, he'd steeled himself and cut off all contact. He'd rather let Claire think he was dead than have her chasing him into danger.

He had clearly underestimated the stubbornness buried deep in the Redfield bloodline.

Claire pushed on without stopping, focused on one thing: reaching Fort Benning as fast as possible.

Just minutes ago, she'd been standing on her apartment rooftop and watched the whole thing, that fat cop luring the little girl into his car.

The uniform was real enough.

But the way he looked at that girl was nothing like how a cop should look. It was more like a predator sizing up prey.

Claire clenched her jaw.

The front wheel rolled over a severed Walker arm. The bike lurched hard.

She steadied the handlebars and kept accelerating.

The black-and-white SUV was two blocks ahead.

She had to move fast.

If she was too late, that poor little girl wasn't going to be okay.

......

The police station.

This building had once stood for order and safety. Now it was a wreck, Brian's temporary base.

The front door's glass was shattered across the ground. The steps were caked in dried bloodstains and scattered footprints.

The black-and-white SUV rolled to a stop out front.

Brian shoved his door open and squeezed his heavy bulk out of the driver's seat. He walked around to the passenger side and pulled the door open.

Sherry jumped out without waiting.

She looked around in every direction, hoping that familiar tall figure would come walking through the door.

The entrance was empty. Only the cold wind blowing through the broken doorway made a low, hollow moan.

"Where's my dad?" Sherry turned to Brian, her eyes full of urgency.

Brian walked over and pressed his thick palm onto her slight shoulder.

"Don't worry, sweetheart."

His face arranged itself into a kindly smile.

"William got a bit of a fright. He's resting in the Safe House down in the basement."

"The basement?" Sherry frowned.

"It's too chaotic out here — those things are everywhere." Brian sighed and gestured toward the station lobby. "The basement has the strongest defenses. He's been asking for you. Come on, I'll take you down to him."

Sherry nodded.

She didn't have a choice.

As long as she could see her dad, she would go anywhere.

Brian steered her forward with a hand on her shoulder and walked her into the dim lobby.

Inside was a mess. Filing cabinets lay toppled on the floor, papers scattered everywhere. The wall behind the reception desk was splattered with a wide spray of old blood.

Sherry covered her nose and carefully stepped around the stains.

Brian led her through the corridors with practiced ease, until they reached a heavy iron door. He pulled a ring of keys from his belt, picked out the largest one, and slid it into the lock.

CLICK!

The door swung open.

A wave of colder, danker air pushed out from behind it. A narrow, steep staircase dropped down into the dark.

Sherry stood at the threshold and instinctively shrank back.

It was too dark in there. And the smell was wrong.

"Is he down there?" She looked up at Brian.

"Of course." Brian reached out and felt along the wall.

The fluorescent lights below flickered a few times and came on, that cold, flat white, barely enough to see by.

"Go on. He's waiting for you." Brian urged her forward.

Sherry swallowed, gripped the iron railing, and went down one step at a time.

Brian followed behind her. He pulled the heavy iron door shut and locked it from the inside.

The basement was larger than Sherry had expected.

But it looked nothing like a Safe House.

It looked like The Slaughterhouse.

Several large iron cages sat stacked in the corner. In the center stood a stainless steel operating table. Beside it, glass jars lined up on a shelf, human organs suspended in murky liquid inside each one.

Sherry's breathing went short and fast.

This place terrified her.

"Dad!" she cried out.

Her voice echoed through the empty space.

No one answered.

She turned. Brian was taking his time on the stairs.

"My dad isn't here." Sherry's feet started moving backward.

Brian finally dropped the act.

The kindly expression wiped off his face in an instant, replaced by something twisted and fanatical underneath.

"Isn't your father right here?"

He crossed to a cart covered with a white sheet and ripped it off in one sharp pull.

Sherry went still.

On the cart lay a young girl. Naked. About Sherry's age. Dead.

Her skin had gone a sickly, waxy white. Strange suture lines covered her body. The chest had been cut open with crude force, the organs scooped out and packed with chemical preservation fibers. Her eyes were wide open, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Sherry let out a piercing scream.

She clapped her hands over her mouth. Tears poured out of her. She backed away until her shoulders hit the wall and there was nowhere left to go.

"Stop screaming." Brian's brow furrowed. The sound clearly irritated him.

"You're disturbing my artwork."

He moved to the cart. His yellowed fingers stroked the dead girl's cold cheek.

"Do you see her?" He turned his head and fixed his stare on Sherry. "She could have been perfect."

"Unfortunately, she damaged her muscles struggling. That prevented the preservation fluid from penetrating evenly."

He shook his head with something like regret.

"A flawed piece like this, even if she was once the mayor's daughter — is simply not worthy of my collection."

Sherry's whole body shook.

She finally understood what she had walked into.

This cop hadn't come to save her.

He was a monster.

"You lied to me." The words came out through her tears. "My dad isn't here at all!"

"That's right, I lied to you." Brian stretched his mouth into a grin, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

"That fool William Birkin has probably been gnawed down to bare bones by the Walkers by now."

"But don't worry. I'll be your new father. I'll take good care of you, in William's place."

His heavy bulk moved toward her, one slow step at a time.

"You're far prettier than she was." His eyes moved over Sherry with naked greed. "Your skin is so smooth and delicate. The proportions of your bones are perfect."

"As long as you stay still and do as you're told."

"I promise — it won't hurt much when I make you into a specimen."

Sherry stared at him coming closer, despair hollowing her out.

She wanted to run. Her legs wouldn't move.

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