Rebecca POV – Ecliptic Express
The bulkhead sealed with a final clang. Rebecca's palms slid down the cold steel. Jack's last words still echoed in her head.
"Keep moving forward—I'll find you."
Her chest tightened, but there was no time to break down. The train screeched and jolted violently, pulling her forward. Behind the sealed door came only silence, then the faint screeching of leeches.
Rebecca wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, steadied her pistol, and forced herself upright.
"Don't panic. Just breathe. Aim for the head." She repeated it under her breath like a mantra.
The corridor ahead stretched long and dim, lit only by sparking bulbs. Blood smeared across the walls, streaked handprints dragging toward the floor. A toppled suitcase spilled across the aisle. The car reeked of copper and mildew.
Then came the sound.
A low groan.
Rebecca froze, pistol trembling in her hands. A man in a bloodstained business suit staggered from a row of seats. His head hung loosely to the side, his jaw slack, milky eyes fixing on her. He snarled, lurching forward.
Rebecca's hands shook. She raised her pistol, sights jerking too high, then too low.
"Stop… just stop!"
The zombie stumbled closer, arms reaching. Her pulse hammered.
The creature lunged. Rebecca screamed and fired, the round catching its shoulder. It barely slowed.
Her back hit the wall. Panic surged—until Jack's voice returned in her mind. "Don't rush. Control it."
She sucked in a shaky breath, tightened her grip, and squeezed the trigger.
The round punched clean through the creature's skull. It collapsed at her feet, twitching once before lying still.
Rebecca stood frozen, chest heaving, staring down at the corpse. Her stomach lurched, but she forced it down.
"You can do this," she whispered. "You have to do this."
She stepped over the body, her boots crunching broken glass, and pushed deeper into the train. Each step forward felt heavier, but her resolve steadied.
The air grew thicker, hot with the stench of rot. Every corner threatened another shadow, every sway of the car another lurch of panic in her chest.
The corridor opened into another passenger car. Blood splattered across the windows, streaked where desperate hands had clawed for escape. Seats were overturned, luggage torn open, and bodies slumped in the aisles.
Rebecca swallowed hard and moved cautiously between them, muzzle trained forward.
A groan stopped her cold.
She spun toward the sound—and her stomach dropped.
It was Edward Dewey.
The Bravo Team marksman staggered from between the seats, his uniform shredded and soaked in blood. His once-friendly eyes were clouded white now, his mouth working in a guttural snarl.
"Edward…" Rebecca's voice cracked. She took a step back, pistol trembling.
He lunged.
Tears blurred her vision as she fired once—then again, the recoil jolting her wrist. The first shot hit his chest. The second struck clean through his skull.
Edward dropped at her feet, blood pooling beneath his head.
Rebecca stood frozen, breath ragged, staring down at her teammate's corpse. The medic in her screamed to check for a pulse, to patch the wounds, to do something. But there was nothing left to save.
Her vision swam. Her chest clenched.
Then she forced herself to holster her pistol and whispered, "I'm sorry… I'll keep going. For all of us."
Jack's POV – Raccoon Forest, Motor Pool
Jack ducked lower behind a half-collapsed wall, clutching the scavenged radio. Static popped, then voices broke through.
Umbrella Command: "Train confirmed en route to the Umbrella Executive Training Facility."
Field Unit: "Copy. Sweep the sector. Erase all evidence. Leave no one alive."
Jack's gut clenched. Rebecca. That train is heading straight into the lion's den.
He slung the M4 across his back and crept toward the motor pool. The garage loomed ahead—reinforced doors blown inward, vehicles burned to skeletal frames. Umbrella insignias were still visible, scorched into the walls.
Jack slipped inside. The stench of fuel and charred steel filled his lungs.
Then a flashlight snapped across his chest.
"Hold it!" one soldier barked. "We've got a survivor!"
Another raised his rifle, voice flat. "Orders are clear. Wipe him. Leave nothing behind."
Jack cursed under his breath and snapped the M4 up. Gunfire erupted, sparks showering from the steel beams overhead. He dropped the first two soldiers in controlled bursts, diving behind a crate as the others returned fire.
He was reloading when the garage shook.
A door at the far end slammed open, and the soldiers scattered like rats. Heavy boots clanged against the concrete. Something massive stepped into the glow of the floodlights.
Jack's blood ran cold.
The creature was enormous—eight feet tall, shoulders plated in fireproof armor, a pair of red fuel tanks strapped to its back. Its face was hidden behind a mask of steel and hoses, a single red optic glaring from the center.
In its gauntleted hands, it carried a flamethrower as tall as a man. Fire licked at the nozzle, the hiss of gas filling the garage.
The giant vented pressure with a hiss, then unleashed a wave of fire. The garage lit up in an inferno. Jack dove behind a rusted vehicle frame as the world burned around him.
Heat seared his skin, sweat pouring into his eyes. The thing advanced slowly, each step echoing with hydraulic menace.
Jack clenched his jaw and whispered to himself, "You want to burn it all? Fine. Let's see how well you burn."
The giant's flamethrower roared again, washing the garage in fire. Jack dove behind a smoldering jeep. The metal groaned under the inferno, paint bubbling.
He checked his M4—two mags left. Not nearly enough.
"Think, Jack," he muttered, sweat pouring down his face. "You can't kill a tank head-on."
He spotted the two exposed red fuel tanks on its back. Jack's lips tightened. "Well, would you look at that… sure does scream 'weak spot.'"
The giant stomped forward, hydraulics hissing. Its single red optic scanned, the flamethrower primed for another burst.
Jack gritted his teeth, timed his breath, and rolled from cover. His sights locked onto the glowing tanks. He squeezed the trigger—three sharp bursts. Sparks flew. Fluid sprayed. The beast roared, whipping around, flames scorching the air where Jack had been.
"Yeah, didn't like that, did you?" Jack muttered, sprinting deeper into the garage.
The monster gave chase, each step shaking the concrete. Jack vaulted over a tool bench, snatching a fragmentation grenade from a fallen Umbrella trooper's vest. He yanked the pin, waited for the brute to lurch past—then lobbed it.
The explosion rocked the motor pool. Fire and shrapnel tore into the beast's fuel tanks. One ruptured, spraying burning liquid across its armor.
The armored giant staggered but didn't fall. Instead, it roared, flames licking higher as its movements grew more erratic.
Jack cursed, fumbling for his last rifle mag. "Still standing? You've gotta be kidding me."
He darted for the far wall, where a row of motorcycles sat half-covered in soot-stained tarps. His eyes locked on one with a plate marked Unit 03. The brass key he'd scavenged earlier gleamed in his pocket.
The Juggernaut turned, optic blazing, flamethrower sputtering but still lethal.
Jack slid onto the Unit 03 bike, jamming the key into the ignition. The engine coughed, then roared to life.
The Juggernaut raised its weapon.
Jack twisted the throttle, surging forward. As he shot past, he emptied the last of his M4's mag straight into the glowing tank.
The fuel tanks erupted in a fireball. The Juggernaut howled, collapsing under the weight of its own flames.
Jack didn't look back. The bike tore through the blown-out garage doors and into the forest night, mud spraying under his tires.
He leaned low, chest burning, vision swimming from smoke and exhaustion.
But he kept going. His jaw clenched. "Hold on, Becca. I'm coming."