I've had the idea for this story for at least a year, but never got around to writing it. Instead, I merely played it out in my head. Anyhow, I just started trying to write it today, and I'd like to know what you all think

Police were gathered all around. There were 10 bodies lying on Main St. in Jyun Valley, the small town just outside Raccoon City—the very Raccoon City that had been infested with monsters that were mutated by the notorious T-virus and G-virus in ‘98.
From the looks of things it had been a gunfight, 8 members of a local gang, one poor waitress, and an elderly fellow holding a 9mm Barrette in his right hand. Each and every one of them had been shot dead.

“Well Lieutenant, what do you think?” A man seeming to be in his mid 60s asked a younger officer. The fellow was about 6-feet tall, well built for a man his age, and had totally white hair. He had a pair of Captain’s bars on the lapel of his Sheriff’s uniform, and a revolver on his right hip.

“Really don’t know, Captain. But, we did find this on the older man.” The young Lieutenant replied to his commanding officer as he handed him a tan, hard-covered diary.
“Hm?” The Captain let out as he took the diary in his hand. The front of the diary read: B. Jessup. The name seemed rather familiar to the old Sheriff, like it might have been the name of a past friend. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” He said, and then started back toward his car. He opened up the door to his patrol car, and got in, staring at the old diary. He closed the door, buckled up, and then headed for his office back at the station.

Moments later, the Captain had arrived in his office. It was a bit dark; the only light in the room came from a small florescent lamp that stood on his desk. He sat in his big black desk chair, reading the diary. “This is the diary of Col. Benjamin Brandon Jessup, United States Marine Corp.” The Sheriff read the first line aloud, and was frozen. He couldn’t believe what he was reading, but he continued, no matter how fantastic it was.



This will be the 18th diary I’ve kept up to date since I first joined the Marines in 1986. Hah. Three one-hundred page books a year for six years.

At this point in my life I’m approximately six-feet tall, weigh around two hundred pounds, and am well toned. All those years in The Service kinda ground into me that I have to remain fit at all times, not a bad habit to keep if you ask me. My hair is the same as it was when I eight-teen. Shaved off. I have a little bit of black hair that just hardly covers my scalp. I’ve gotten a decent tan recently, and managed to keep it. My sense of fashion hasn’t changed any. I still wear a black or white T-shirt tucked into my blue jeans with my belt metal-to-metal, and I still have my old combat boots, which I wear 90+ percent of the time. Yeah, The Service had a big effect on my life.

Well, today was a bit interesting. I got sent to this place called Ashford Manor some days back to retrieve some valuable items. The Umbrella Corporation hired me, though I don’t quite understand why they would need to hire a mercenary to get some jewels for them when they have their own private army. Anyhow, as stated in my last diary, before I could even get into the place it went up in flames. Luckily I was plenty far away on a cliff, and didn’t get hurt. My ears rang for a while, but nothing more. So, I reported back, and whatnot, and then I came into this nice little town called Raccoon City, and that’s where the story of this book begins.

I came into this tavern in town, feeling quite dry after the long walk out of Raccoon Forest. I sat myself down on one of the red stools at the bar, and waved for the barkeeper. He was a fair-sized guy, a bit taller than myself, big bear-like arms, a wide chest, and a stomach that stuck out just a bit. He had on a pair of blue jeans, and a white T-shirt, and like most every bartender I’ve ever seen he was holding a white cloth that he used to dry the mugs.

“What can I get ya?” The barkeeper asked kindly.
“Get me the strongest Whiskey you have.” I replied.
“Comin’ right up, sir.” The bartender went to the back wall, where dozens of bottles sat on glass shelves. He took hold of the neck of a clear bottle with a dark brown content, and pulled the cork out with his opposite hand. After pouring the Whiskey into a mug, and placing the bottle back in its place, the barkeeper brought me my drink. “That’s $4.28.” He said as he put the mug on the bar before me.

I pulled a five-dollar bill from my pocket, and put it next to the mug before I grabbed the handle on the large mug, and started to chug the Whiskey. By the time I decided to put the mug back on the bar it was half empty, and the barkeeper had already taken the $5. “Pretty good. What brand is it?” I asked as I looked into the glass.
“My own. I brew it myself.” The bartender said with a smile.
“You don’t say?” I said with a small grin of my own as I looked to the man.
The barman only nodded, and then came to hand me my change. “I gotta say mister, I ain’t ever seen a guy drink that stuff like you do.” The man seemed somewhat amazed as I took another big gulp of the stuff. “Not even the most troubled of men who walk through my doors drink that hard.” He added as I just finished off the mug.
I let out a small laugh, and then replied: “I’ve been drinking the hard stuff since I was eight-teen, and got stationed over in Germany for four-years.”
“Ooh, an Army man.”
“Marine.” I corrected as I tossed another 5 on the bar, and nudged the glass toward the kind bartender. The fellow just smiled, and fetched me another drink.

True enough, I had drank some of the hardest alcohol known to man and not gotten sick, but I’m no alcoholic, so I quit at two, and asked the man if he knew a decent motel I could stay at in town. He was kind enough to give me directions, and I left straight away after giving the man his tip.

The motel was in walking distance, only a few blocks east. It was just about sunset when I left the bar, so hopefully they’d have an open room, ‘cause I wasn’t in the mood to wander through the night, and I certainly didn’t feel like sleeping outside. Luckily the motel was just about empty, so I had no problem getting a room.



The room they put me in was surprisingly nice, considering how the place looked on the outside. There were vines growing up on the 2-story building, and the grass around the place was almost up to my knees. However, like they always say, “don’t judge a book by its cover.”
I walked around the well-sized room, and then spotted the small digital clock on the nightstand. “Nine A.M.?” I said to myself. “I slept longer than I thought.” For a good 4-years of my life I had been woken up at dawn for the usual drills they put one through in the Marines, and since then I had been getting up at that exact same time without an alarm, or anything, so for me to get up at even eight A.M. would be a little surprising.

The lady at the desk had put me up on the second floor, as I had requested. Not sure why, but I always want to stay on the second floor. Suppose it could be because back in Germany I stayed on the second floor of this old 3-story house with the rest of my unit, and during Operation Desert Storm we stayed in some beat-up, 2-story, stone-like house for a while, and took the top floor while another unit took the ground level. I guess you just get used to some things.

After a little while I walked over to the window, and looked out at the street. There were only a few cars on the road, most of them heading the same direction. People in the city were probably just now getting up to leave for work. As my eyes started trailing closer to the motel I saw a man, just a bit older than myself in a black suit sitting at the bus stop. Some guy who seemed rather sickly was attacking the man. I grabbed my gun off the dresser, and quickly snapped the holster onto my belt near my right hip. I pulled my black T-shirt on over my head, and rushed out the door. I sped down the few stairs that led to the sidewalk of the motel, leaping off the 5th to last step. I raced over to the men, and with a powerful side-kick with my right leg, I broke the attacker’s left knee. He let out a strange moan of agony, and then turned to me. I couldn’t help but notice that the man’s eyes were perfectly white—they had no irises and no pupils either, just white.
The fellow’s skin was a blue-ish gray, and his hair was whiter than his eyes. If I believed in the undead, I certainly would have labeled the guy a zombie on the spot.

Just then the ill-looking man started coming toward me! I didn’t know what to do. His choice of action had sent me aback a little. After all, I had just broken his knee. I know I did. I heard the thing snap!

“Look guy, I don’t want to hurt you anymore, but if you—” I never got the chance to finish, as the man had latched onto me, and was about to try and take a bite out of my neck. I did what my instincts told me, and drew my Barrette. I fired it once right in the man’s stomach, sending him stumbling back a few feet. To my amazement the man was still alive, and standing! I had just blasted a whole through his torso, and he was still coming at me. I didn’t waste a single second. I placed my left hand under the butt of the handle, aimed, and shot the freak right in the head. Right after the bullet exited through the other side of his skull he fell to the ground.

The man’s eyes were still open. Those pure white eyes. I looked into the white marble-like eyeballs the man had, and couldn’t help but wonder: Do those freaks from the old B-movies really exist? Was that guy some kind of… I pushed the thought out of my mind, and turned to the fellow in the black suit. “Hey, you alright?”
“The freak bit me.” The man replied, quite obviously in pain. His left arm looked like it had been gnawed on by a dog it was so ripped up.
I looked at the man’s left arm, and then glanced back over to the corpse, half waiting to see if it would stand up again, and half wondering if it was, in fact, a zombie. “If I were you, I wouldn’t waste any time getting to the hospital.” I said as I turned my gaze back to the well-dressed white man.
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” The man grabbed his briefcase, and quickly headed down the road.

“Get outta here, you freak! And don’t come back!!” An angry bartender shouted from across the road as he pushed a man out the door. One of the barman’s hands was bleeding, and the fellow he had tossed out had a notable amount of blood around his mouth.

“What the devil is going in this city?” I asked myself as I watched from the bus stop. First this guy, now him. I thought as I looked at the dead man to my left, and then to the ailing man outside the bar.

I returned to my room, and took a quick 10-minute shower, and in that short quantity of time chaos had taken over the streets just outside the motel. I looked out my window, and saw that zombie-like creatures, just like the man I myself had shot dead, and the fellow outside the bar now swarmed the streets like flies on the carcass of an animal.
“Good God.” I muttered in shock, and a bit of fear as I gazed upon the scene.

Already I could hear the sirens of the RPD patrol cars nearing. It wasn’t long at all before the police had formed a barrier around the zombie-like beings.

Bodies were strewn all along the streets that were in my view, and some of them were starting to rise up, even though they looked like they had been murdered, mauled to death only moment ago.

One of the Officers of the Raccoon City Police Department started spouting orders for the monster-like people to remain where they were, put their hands behind their head, etcetera. However, the things that could only be described as zombies would not listen, they just kept walking toward the officers.
It was a little odd to watch the zombies walk, it was kind of like they weren’t all there—sort of like they were sleepwalking, or something.

I stepped out of my room, and stood by the railing, simply watching the incredible event unfold before my very eyes.

The Officer with the mega-phone warned the zombies a couple times that if they did not comply that they would be forced to shoot. And they did.
The sound of gunfire could be heard clear as a bell from blocks around. Boy did that bring back memories. Memories of Desert Storm, and the many battles me and my comrades had fought over in the Middle East. I knew right then and there that this wasn’t going to be the end of it. No. The man at the bus stop, the bar incident, even the mass murder of those zombies that were nearly covering the roads, all this is merely the beginning.

Once you’ve been in a war or two you kind of get a knack for sensing them, knowing when another war is about to happen.
I can feel it. I can smell it in the air as plainly as I smell the gunpowder that hazes the streets. A war is coming, and it won’t be long before it’s man versus zombie all over the city.



I awoke today to more havoc then I’d seen since 1990 during Operation Desert Storm. I was awakened not of my volition, or by the buzzing of some annoying alarm clock, but by the sounds of war. Aye. They were sounds I knew all too well. The booms of the grenades. The resounding of the fully-automatic firearms being shot. The screams of the dying and/or wounded. Oh yeah, that certainly sent me back.

Without any hesitation I put on my boots, my belt, my 9mm, and my shirt, and then headed out the door. There was no way I was just going to sit inside that motel and wait for those minions of Death to come for me. Heck no, I was going to kill them first.

I knew I smelled a war yesterday, and sure enough the city had broken out into war. The zombies were everywhere. At that point the RPD was doing everything it could to kill those vile creatures, but there was simply too many for them to handle alone.

I drew my handgun from its holster; loaded a magazine into it that I pulled from one of the several holsters on the back of my belt, and then cocked the gun. I quickly aimed, and fired upon every living zombie I could see. Hm… Is that an oxymoron: living zombie? Whatever. I shot any that were moving, or standing.
As I made my way out to the street to join the police officers I was tackled by one of the freaks. Weird thing was that I recognized the creature. It was the kind lady from the desk of the motel. Just what the devil is going on? I asked myself as I forced the woman off of me, and then hesitantly shot the lady in the head.



~Juno~

Edited by Juno on October 16, 2007 at 20:48:52.

Thanks axl z Here's a few more pages for you:

I rose to my feet as fast as I could, and started firing at the zombies again as I started toward the barrier of police cars. I didn’t really understand what on Earth was going on, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t the time to try and wrap my head around all that, it was the time for action. Action in the form of hot led, and lots of it. I finally made it over to the police, and dove behind one of the open doors so I could be protected, and still be able to see my targets.

“Well, hi there.” An officer greeted me. He seemed to be about 25-years-old, only a few years younger than myself.
“Hey.” I replied, a bit winded as I turned to the man who was also using the car door for protection.
“I’m Grant, Grant Kelley.” The young man said, and then fired upon one of the monsters.
“Benjamin Jessup!” I said loudly to be heard over the sound of my own gun as I shot one of the many zombies in the head.
“Nice to meet ya!” The young man said as he started opening fire on the horde of zombie.

I got into a kneeling position just behind the door, my gun already aimed. I took my time with every shot, aiming right for the heads, and only the ones closest to me. I wanted to save all the bullets I could—no telling how long all this would last. Before I even had to reload my magazine the horde was killed off.
I stood up after the last of the zombies had been killed, and just looked around a little. After a brief moment I looked at the young officer beside me. “You’re all pretty good at this. Does it happen often?” I asked commonly, but I was obviously joking with the man.
The fellow laughed a bit, and then replied: “No. This is certainly a first.” He answered with a chuckle in his voice.

I returned to my room only to grab my backpack. There was no way in Hades I was going to stick around and get eaten by those zombies…or so I thought. Being new to the city I had absolutely no idea where I was going, not only that but my map had somehow gone missing.

“Dang it.” I said quietly to myself as I stood on the sidewalk, only a street away from the Raccoon City Police Department. “How the heck do I get out of here?” He thought aloud.

The city was dead. There was just me and a couple cops on the street, everyone else seemed to have either hit the road, or was hiding.

As I stood there on the sidewalk with my arms folded, mumbling angry words to air, one of those things came out of the alleyway just to my right. Like all the others his eyes were completely white, his skin was a blue-ish gray, and he walked just like the others, appearing quite mindless.
The creature let out a moan, and on that cue I drew my 9mm while flicking off the safety, and then shot the zombie right between the eyes without even turning to him. Just after the undead being fell to the ground I sighed with frustration.
“I have got to get out of this city.”

I probably could have gone to the RPD for help, but I didn’t want to risk it. I’d been a mercenary for almost 2-years, and I’m sure that I’ve given myself a pretty thick file already. True, I’ve never been arrested, but I remember a few times when the police showed up just in time to get a glimpse of me. At that point I was between a rock and a hard place. I could either go to the cops and risk being set to prison for a very long time, or I could try to find a way out of the city by myself, probably get lost, and then end up wandering around the city at night hoping that I don’t run into a pack of those zombies. Stupid me, I chose the zombies.

I ended up wandering around town for some time, and before I knew it sundown had come. I knew I had to find shelter somewhere, somehow. Because if there is one thing anybody learns from the horror films it’s that the outdoors are unsafe during the night. Granted, I had a 9mm holstered at my right hip, but there was no telling how many of those zombies were out there.

I let out a small sigh as I gazed upon the local elementary school. It seemed safe enough to me. I smiled faintly, and then headed for the front doors. Queer. I thought as I looked at the broken handle of the door. Perhaps this place isn’t as safe as I thought. I took a quick look around, just to see if I could find anything out of the ordinary. “Dang it.” I thought aloud as my eyes fell upon a splatter of blood just outside the door, only inches away from my boots. At that point I wasn’t sure if I should go in on account of the blood and busted handle. Then again, what choice did I have? I could either stay outside with the beasts that awaited me on the streets, or I could go into the school and hang with the undead teachers. “Dang it.” I muttered once more before I headed inside the school.

As I continued deeper into the elementary school it came to my attention that the power seemed to be out. Luckily my eyes adjusted to the darkness rather fast, and I was able to find my way through to one of the classrooms. I figured that I could use the desks to barricade the doors until morning, and then I could try to find a way out of the city. However, I didn’t count on what happened next.

“Hold it!!” A man screamed in a panicky voice as he aimed a 6-round revolver at me. He was an average sized fellow, just an inch or two over six-feet tall, and was just a little thin. The black man had thick curly hair that he kept fairly short, and he had a little bit of a scruff on his face—clearly the man had forgotten to shave that morning.
I did as the man said, and kept perfectly still. “Look mister, I’m not one of those things.” I said as calmly as I could under the conditions.
“S-Sorry sir, I’m just a-a bit j-jumpy.” The man said as he lowered his firearm. He was well dressed, wearing an off-white long-sleeved button-up shirt and black slacks. He had his sleeves rolled up, and the first 3 buttons on his shirt undone.
After the man had lowered his revolver, I took a look around the room, and then I saw them. There were about 5 kids lying dead on the floor. I caught sight of the eyes of one of the small boys, they were just like the eyes of the zombies. Poor kids. I thought to myself as I looked down at the children.
“Randy Ramona, he was one of my top students.” The black man said as he now stood beside me looking down at the boy. He tried his best to swallow the big lump in his throat, but had no success.
“I’m sorry…” I said in an attempt to somewhat comfort the poor fellow. “My name’s Benjamin Jessup, you can call me Ben.” I extended my right hand in greeting, and waited for the man to introduce himself.
“I’m Jason Dudley.” He said as he shook my hand.
“Nice to meet you, though I wish it was under different circumstances.”
“As do I.”
“So, I take it you’re a teacher here. What do you teach?” I asked commonly as I grabbed one of the desks, and started carrying it toward the door.
“I’m an English teacher.” Jason replied. “I teach…taught fifth-graders.”

It didn’t take a psychiatrist to tell that this man was falling into depression, and with good reason, mind you. The guy’s entire life was falling apart. His teaching career in this city was definitely over. He had been forced to kill some of his students because they had been turned into monsters. I figured the only way things could get any worse for the poor guy was if zombies started pouring in from the windows and the door. However, I was wrong. As I continued building the barricade in front of the only door to the classroom I noticed that he was fiddling with something on his left ring finger. It was as I had suspected, a gold wedding ring.
Oh, good grief. I thought as I watched the man for only a couple seconds. Don’t tell me the poor devil has lost his wife, too. “Hey Jason.”
The middle-aged teacher looked up from his ring, his eyes focusing in on me. “Uh, yes?” He asked softly.
“You wanna give me a hand?” I asked as I placed my left hand on a bookshelf that was about my height, and a good 2 and a half feet wide.
“Certainly.” Said Mr. Dudley. He placed his gun on one of the remaining desks after putting the safety on, and then got on the opposite side of the bookshelf.

With just a bit of difficulty, some grunting and groaning, the two of us managed to get the full bookshelf in front of the barricade of school desks. Once in front, we pushed it back so that it would lean on the pile of desks.



~Juno~