Chapter 76: The Fall of the South

September 25, 1998, 9:07 AM. Northern suburbs of Raccoon City, Interstate 15.

The blinding sunlight spilled onto the asphalt road. A dozen M1 Abrams tanks were lined up, their cold muzzles pointed in the direction of Raccoon City.

U.S. Army soldiers clad in desert camouflage, holding M16 rifles, had constructed temporary fortifications on both sides of the highway. Barbed wire and tank traps completely sealed off the roads entering and leaving the city.

Three Apache attack helicopters hovered at low altitude, the dust kicked up by their propellers filling the sky.

An officer wearing the rank of Colonel stood beside a command vehicle, holding a satellite phone, his face so gloomy it could drip water.

"I'll say this again: Umbrella Corporation personnel must withdraw from Raccoon City immediately, and all relevant personnel are to be taken into custody by the military." The Colonel's voice carried unquestionable authority. "Otherwise, we will consider it a hostile act and take all necessary measures."

The cold voice of an Umbrella Corporation executive came from the other end of the phone: "Colonel, the situation in Raccoon City is under our control. The UBCS troops are executing a rescue mission, and your blockade has impacted our civilian evacuation plan. If any civilians die because of this, the military will bear all responsibility."

"Under control?" The Colonel sneered, looking at the rolling black smoke rising from the distant city. "A city of one hundred thousand has become a nest for the living dead, and this is what you call control? You have 24 hours to withdraw all your people."

He didn't wait for a response and hung up the phone directly. Turning to the adjutant beside him, he said, "Notify all checkpoints: anyone attempting to leave Raccoon City, regardless of status, is to be quarantined on the spot. If there is any aggressive behavior, kill them without hesitation."

"Yes, sir!"

Meanwhile, at the Raccoon City southern viaduct.

A dozen Umbrella Corporation armored vehicles were parked on the bridge deck. UBCS soldiers wearing black tactical gear held their weapons and chatted in relaxed clusters.

Carlos leaned against the turret of an armored vehicle, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, staring at the burning city in the distance with a deep frown.

"Something's not right." Carlos said to Tyrone beside him. "This doesn't look like a riot at all; it's more like the entire Raccoon City is at war."

"Don't think too much about it." Tyrone wiped his rifle. "We just execute the mission, save civilians, and get paid. Everything else has nothing to do with us."

Carlos shook his head and said nothing. He always felt this mission wasn't that simple.

Since entering the city, they hadn't seen a single high-ranking official from Umbrella Corporation; all orders were delivered via encrypted communications.

And that guy Nicholai had disappeared ever since entering the city; no one knew where he had gone.

10:12 AM. Raccoon City Police Department.

The dull thud of hammers hitting wood came intermittently from the lobby. All street-facing windows on the first floor had been sealed with thick plywood, with fist-sized firing holes chiseled into the corners of each board.

The temporary shelter was crammed into the original detention area. More than three hundred survivors huddled on blankets, the cries of children stifled by adults into suppressed sobbing.

Marvin leaned against the doorframe of the command room, a half-burnt cigarette pinched between his fingertips. The ash had accumulated a long length, but he was completely unaware.

He hadn't closed his eyes for thirty-eight hours since yesterday afternoon. His bloodshot eyes were filled with fine red veins, and the stubble on his chin was as hard as steel needles.

"Sergeant, there's still no movement from the Chief's office." Young officer Elliot ran over, clutching a crowbar, his forehead covered in sweat. "We've been knocking for almost ten minutes, and there's no sound inside. Wilson, who was injured yesterday, has started running a fever. The medical kits are all in the safe in the Chief's office; we have to get in and get them."

Marvin took a final drag of the cigarette and crushed the butt into an ashtray full of cigarette butts. Ever since Irons shot the officer delivering water yesterday afternoon, that oak door had never opened again.

Occasionally, one could hear the sound of bottles breaking inside, along with incoherent curses—cursing those "man-eating lunatics," cursing Umbrella Corporation, and cursing S.T.A.R.S..

"Take two men and break down the door." Marvin picked up the Shotgun leaning against the wall and racked the bolt to chamber a round. "Be careful; that guy is out of his mind right now and has a gun."

Three minutes later, the wooden door of the Chief's office was pried open with a crowbar. A pungent smell of alcohol mixed with a faint scent of blood rushed out, and the room was in a mess.

Empty whiskey bottles rolled across the floor, documents on the desk were torn to shreds, and three fresh bullet holes remained on the wall, the bullets deeply embedded in the plaster.

Irons was gone.

On the desk, only an empty black briefcase remained, along with a solid gold lighter engraved with the red-and-white umbrella logo of Umbrella Corporation, tossed on the edge of an ashtray.

"This bastard! He ran away!" Elliot slammed his fist on the table in anger. "He left us all here and ran away himself!"

"Notify everyone." Marvin's voice was terrifyingly calm, devoid of any emotion. "From now on, I am taking over supreme command of the Raccoon City Police Department. Seal the Chief's office; do not let anyone in. Get the medical kits out and treat Wilson's wounds first."

He turned and walked out of the office, locking the mess and betrayal behind the door. Anger wouldn't solve any problems; there were still over three hundred survivors waiting for him to protect.

However, the bad news came faster than he imagined.

"Captain! Communications for the southern district are down!" The radio operator jumped up from his chair, his face pale. "Ennerdale Street, Oak Street, 7th Avenue, 9th Avenue—at least twenty-three trapped locations have sent distress signals simultaneously! They say there are swarms of lunatics pouring from the city center toward the south, as far as the eye can see!"

Marvin rushed to the map and pressed his finger heavily on the southern city district. After Deputy Chief Raymond sacrificed himself in the ambush on Ennerdale Street yesterday, the temporary defensive line in the south had already collapsed.

The Army's iron blockade in the north was like a huge funnel, driving all the infected in the city toward the south and east. Now, that zombie horde, which had been accumulating for a whole day, had finally broken through the last barrier in the south.

"How many able-bodied people do we have left?" Marvin asked without looking back.

"Including the SWAT team, there are sixty-seven in total." Deputy Captain Edwards flipped through the roster in his hand, his voice hoarse. "Twenty of them must remain to guard the police station, protecting the shelter and the wounded. Of the remaining forty-seven, nineteen have varying degrees of scratches and contusions, and many haven't eaten for a day."

"What about vehicles?"

"There are five modified patrol cars and two troop transports left, and the fuel tanks are full. All the ammunition we could find has been distributed, with an average of three magazines per person."

The command room fell into instant silence. Everyone was looking at Marvin, waiting for his decision. They all knew what the situation was like in the south; those sent out might very well never come back.

"Edwards, you take the fifteen most elite to guard the police station." Marvin's voice broke the silence, every word resounding. "Reinforce all entrances and exits, and lock the iron gate in the backyard. If anyone knocks, do not open it without my order."

"The rest of you, divide into eight squads of four. Take all the vehicles and head out. Prioritize rescuing the elderly, women, and children. Take as many as you can, and you must all return to the police station by 6:00 PM."

"Captain! You can't do that!" Elliot blurted out. "The south is a slaughterhouse right now! With so few of us going out, we won't even be enough to fill the teeth of those lunatics! We should stay here and wait until we make contact with the outside world!"

"No." Marvin shook his head, pointing at the dense red dots on the map. "These people trapped in the buildings can hold out until this afternoon at most. But we cannot gamble everyone's lives on an uncertain piece of news."

He turned around, looking at all the officers in the room, his gaze heavy yet firm: "I know this is suicide. I know many of you want to leave here alive. But we wear this uniform, and protecting the citizens is our duty. Deputy Chief Raymond used his life to buy a few thousand people in the south an extra twelve hours of life; now, it's our turn."

"I'll go with you!" Elliot was the first to raise his hand.

"Count me in!"

"I'm going too!"

Hand after hand went up; no one backed down. They weren't elites like S.T.A.R.S.; they were just ordinary small-town police officers. They hadn't undergone special operations training, and they didn't have sophisticated equipment, but in the face of disaster, they chose to stand in front of ordinary people.

11:07 AM, eight police cars rushed out of the police station gates with sirens blaring, speeding toward Ennerdale Street in the southwest. The shrill siren pierced the deathly silent sky of Raccoon City, like a faint light breaking through the darkness shrouding the city.

Marvin sat in the passenger seat of the first police car, clutching his Shotgun tightly, his eyes fixed on the empty street ahead.

Meanwhile, at the southern viaduct.

A cold, global command suddenly came through the encrypted headset: "All combat units take note, immediately disperse into twelve squads, advance north along three routes, clear out armed rioters along the way, and gather at the clock tower in the city center by 18:00 to establish a temporary rescue command point. Repeat, disperse and advance, gather at the clock tower, prioritize rescuing civilians."

Carlos stubbed out the cigarette in his hand and frowned: "Disperse and advance? The situation outside is unclear right now, isn't dispersing just asking for death?"

"Headquarters must have their reasons." Tyrone patted him on the shoulder, "We are Delta Squad A, taking the middle route, Maple Street. Hurry up, we'll lose our bonus if we're late."

Ten minutes later, the twelve UBCS squads drove off the overpass, dispersing and advancing along Raccoon Street, Maple Street, and Warren Avenue towards the clock tower in the city center.

No one told them that what they were about to face were not rioters with guns, but unkillable living dead. In all of Umbrella Corporation's orders, there was not a single mention of the T-Virus or the infected.

The first to suffer a catastrophe were the Alpha and Bravo squads taking Raccoon Street. As they rounded the first street corner, they ran head-on into the main zombie horde surging from the city center.

Over two hundred zombies surrounded them instantly, and the doors of the armored vehicles were blocked tight. The soldiers fired frantically, only to find that bullets had no effect on the torsos. In just fifteen minutes, the twenty-four soldiers from the two squads were all killed, with no survivors.

The Delta A squad that Carlos was in took Maple Street, and the situation was slightly better. When the first zombie rushed out from an alley, Carlos reacted extremely quickly, blowing its head off with a single shot.

"Shoot the head! Only hitting the head works!" Carlos roared into his headset.

But most of the soldiers had already fallen into panic. They had never seen such enemies before; some emptied entire magazines into the zombies' torsos, while others threw grenades that only blew off the zombies' lower bodies. Seeing the monsters dragging their intestines as they continued to crawl toward them, some simply broke down.

"Don't panic! Keep the formation!" Michelle said while firing, directing the squad to retreat, "Carlos, cover the left flank! Murphy, get the medical kit ready!"

They fought while retreating, with soldiers falling along the way. Some were bitten by zombies hiding behind doors, and others were tackled by zombies jumping down from the second floor. When they finally reached the intersection of Maple Street and Central Avenue, only five people remained of the twelve-man squad.

On the roof of a nearby residential building, Nicholai was holding a high-definition camera, filming everything with an expressionless face. On his notebook, the casualty data for each squad was clearly recorded: "Alpha A Squad: Wiped out. Bravo B Squad: Wiped out. Delta A Squad: 5 survivors..."

By four in the afternoon, squads were arriving at the clock tower one after another. The original 144-man UBCS force ended up with only thirty-seven people alive at the assembly point.

Of the twelve squads, seven were completely wiped out, and the remaining five had also suffered more than fifty percent casualties. Everyone was exhausted, their ammunition was depleted, and their faces were filled with fear and despair.

"Headquarters! This is the clock tower assembly point! We have been attacked by unknown creatures and have suffered heavy casualties! Requesting reinforcements! Requesting evacuation!" The temporary commander roared frantically into the encrypted headset.

But there was only the cold sound of static in the headset. Umbrella Corporation headquarters did not send any reinforcements, nor did they issue any new orders, as if they had been completely abandoned.

Carlos leaned against the wall of the clock tower, looking at the dense crowd of zombies outside, and then looked at his shaken comrades beside him, his heart filled with anger and a cold chill.

He finally understood that they were not here to rescue anyone at all; they were just bait thrown out by Umbrella Corporation to buy time.

"We've been sold out." Carlos said in a low voice, his voice trembling slightly.

Tyrone did not speak, simply wiping his rifle in silence. Everyone knew that what Carlos said was true, but no one wanted to admit it.

They were trapped in the clock tower. Below was an endless horde of corpses, and their retreat route had been cut off. Umbrella Corporation had abandoned them, and the army was eyeing them covetously from outside the city. No one knew how much longer they could hold out.

On the other side, the rescue operation in the southwest district was equally tragic.

When Marvin's first squad arrived at the trapped point at the supermarket on Ennerdale Street, the sight before them made everyone gasp.

Hundreds of staggering figures surrounded the supermarket, the glass doors had been smashed to pieces, and the heart-wrenching screams of survivors came from inside.

"Everyone out of the vehicle! Spread out in a fan formation! Aim for the head! Cover the survivors as they come out!" Marvin pushed open the car door, his Shotgun spitting fire, instantly blowing the heads off the first few zombies.

The officers quickly fanned out, their bullets accurately striking the zombies' skulls. But there were simply too many zombies; for every one that fell, two more immediately took its place.

In the interval while reloading his magazine, a young officer was tackled to the ground by a zombie that rushed over from the side. He screamed and pulled the trigger, emptying his last magazine, but was ultimately submerged in the horde.

"Quick! Take the child and run to the vehicle!" Elliott scooped up a little girl who was paralyzed with fear on the ground and shoved her into the transport vehicle.

The survivors in the supermarket stumbled out, rushing toward the vehicles under the cover of the officers. Someone fell, and was immediately grabbed by the zombies behind, their screams quickly disappearing into the chaotic roars.

In this rescue, they saved twenty-one survivors, but lost three comrades forever.

Similar tragedies continued to play out in every corner of the southwest district. Every trapped point meant a bloody battle, and every additional person saved required the price of blood.

Casualty reports were continuously transmitted back to the Raccoon City Police Department via walkie-talkie, and every name announced felt like a knife stabbing into the hearts of the personnel left behind.

"Squad Three reporting, the trapped point at Oak Street Apartments has fallen, we sacrificed two men and only saved seven survivors."

"Squad Seven reporting, Seventh Avenue is blocked by the horde, we cannot advance, requesting retreat."

"Squad Five reporting, the captain was bitten, he told us to take the survivors and go first, while he stayed behind to cover the rear."

At 17:51, the setting sun dyed the sky of Raccoon City blood-red.

The last rescue vehicle dragged its battered body back to the Raccoon City Police Department. The car body was covered in dark brown scratch marks, the windshield was completely shattered, the rear right tire was half flat, and the wheel hub scraped against the ground, making a harsh sound.

Marvin got out of the vehicle, his police uniform soaked through with blood, his left arm wrapped in thick gauze, with blood still seeping out of the bandage. His face was stained with dirt and blood, his eyes so tired he could barely keep them open.

Elliott did not return. The Eighth Squad he led was surrounded by thousands of zombies at the intersection of Ninth Avenue while covering the retreat of the last batch of survivors.

In order to let the transport vehicle break out, he drove a police car filled with gasoline and charged toward the horde, perishing together with dozens of zombies in the blast of fire.

The command room was deathly silent. The communications officer lowered his head, clutching a crumpled casualty list, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"The statistics are out." The communications officer's voice carried an irrepressible sob, "We sent out thirty-six police officers and seventeen SWAT members today, but only... ten people came back. A total of forty-three people sacrificed."

Marvin looked at the city map on the wall, where the blue markers representing the rescue squads were being crossed out one by one with black X's.

Large areas of the southwest and south had been painted deep black, representing total collapse. They had tried their best, paying the price of forty-three lives, and only saved one hundred and seventeen survivors.

No one knew that at the clock tower in the city center, there were thirty-seven other UBCS soldiers also trapped.

Two forces that could have fought side-by-side had not yet crossed paths, due to Umbrella Corporation's deliberate concealment and the misalignment of their routes.

"I understand." Marvin's voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, and he waved his hand, "Let everyone get something to eat and rest for four hours. Set up guard posts and rotate shifts every two hours. Write down the names and badge numbers of the fallen brothers; as long as one of us makes it out alive, we cannot let them have sacrificed in vain."

Everyone left the command room in silence. Only Marvin stood alone in front of the map, looking at that black southern urban area, and did not speak for a long time. His shoulders trembled slightly, but he did not make a sound.

The sky outside the window had turned completely dark. From the distance came the low roars of zombies, one after another, crashing against the walls of the Raccoon City Police Department like ocean waves.