R
ReaperOfFlames
Guest
Original poster
Hello all! Now I have no idea if incremented chapter stories are welcomed in this section of Iwaku, but I couldn't find anywhere else that might accept them; if there is a more appropriate place for this, just point me in the right direction and I'll be happy to move it over! That aside, concerning this story, it is one that I've had floating around my head for quite some time. Within the confines of the Resident Evil universe, Raccoon City is described as a rural mountain town; I mean the Arklay Mountains are the home of the infamous Spencer Mansion after all. That being said, it stands to reason that some people might decide to take the more rustic approach to life like Oswell Spencer and move into the mountains to live a life closer to nature. So my question is, considering the fact that the opening to Resident Evil one clearly shows the woods of the Arklay Mountains are infested with BOW's, what happened to all those individuals living out there? If you would, take a seat, and we'll seek the answers to this question together~
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Chapter 1: Red Sun in the Morning...
It was a brisk September morning. The sun was just barely peeking over the tops of the trees. The leaves, the dew covering them beginning to shimmer, were beginning to change in color from green to a fiery orange, and a fine breeze broke the rising temperature into something not only manageable, but actually quite enjoyable. Picnic weather, Sam would call it, one of his favorite types of weather. As luck would have it, Samuel Winters found himself sitting on the front porch of his cabin that very morning as he watched the sun rise with his breakfast sitting on his lap. Apart from just wanting to maintain a distance from the world at large since his return from the Vietnam War, he found that the weather and general atmosphere of the mountains did a good deal for his disposition and overall mental health; sure he still had nightmares from time to time, as was the case tonight, and every so often there were ear-shattering explosions that the local government waved off as "Experimental Army Tests", but apart from that, Sam had enjoyed his time in the Arklay Mountains. When the sun was finally visible in the sky, Sam felt his lips cock up into a nostalgic smile as he muttered an old navy adage, "Red Sun in the mornin', sailors take warnin'. Maybe I should lay off the huntin' t'day, waddya think Jake?" The old english mastiff at his feet lazily raised his head, tilting it slightly as if it were pondering his question, though Sam knew enough that Jake was only really interested in the fact that he'd said his name...and probably the food in his lap. With a chuckle, he broke a piece of bacon in half and tossed it to the dog who sloppily caught it in his mouth before devouring it with little trouble; he liked to act all broken down and old, but when food was involved, Jake was about as spry as a damn pup. "Yeah...I think t'days gonna be a relaxin' day, we got 'nuff meat t'last us a while. Sides, if it gets desperate we can always go int'a town." Sam said, reclining back in his chair as he finished off his own half of the bacon before taking a sip of the beer in his hand.
He'd been told before that drinking before the afternoon was a bad idea, but as far as he was concerned, it was the afternoon somewhere in the world and since he had no plans for the day that involved leaving his house, things would be just fine. Sure he needed to check what was making his truck hiccup like it was, but that could wait. It wasn't like he was going to need to head into town today and he had all the parts to work with here, he was just going to sit back, enjoy the good weather, and probably knock back a six-pack while he cleared the cobwebs out of his head. As the day progressed, things seemed to work out just the way he was planning them to; by the time he was cooking dinner, he'd already finished 5 crosswords and was well into his 6th before he had set it down to tenderize the venison he was about to cook up. It wasn't a complicated recipe, all it required was a quick dip into his special sauce; a little beer (of course), some smashed up blueberries he'd managed to pick the day before, salt, and cinnamon before he set it into a pan to sear up. It might have sounded strange to someone who'd never tasted it before, but the sweetness of the berries cut out the bitterness of the beer, leaving only the rye flavoring while the salt enhanced it and the cinnamon made it sharper. All together, it took a majority of the meat's gaminess away and left it with a strong, sharp beef taste with just the right amount of sweet tang, something his grandmother had taught him once upon a time, the taste of it enough to bring him right back home again. With the Vension cooking, he set about putting together another favorite of his; he'd had the great fortune of coming across a small patch of wild yams on his last hunting trip, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't love himself a good yam. He pulled out two and put them to soak for a few minutes in some warm water as he went back to watch his venison. It was a thick cut, but he still had to keep an eye on it to make sure he didn't overdue things before the first flip...the first flip was always the most important one after all.
After he'd made that all important first flip, he went back and retrieved his yams from the water and set them on his cutting board, slicing the now soft vegetables down the middle just enough to part them without separating them completely. When he was done, he coated the whole of them in Maple Syrup and filled the centers up with small marshmallows; was this technically cheating when it came to eating his vegetables? Some might say yes, but he would tell you to shut right the hell up, these were delicious and once they finished baking in the oven, they would be all the more delicious. With his mapled candied yams now baking, he returned to his searing meat and made his second flip of the cooking process, quickly putting a pot lid over the pan after it was down. Now that both sides were cooked, it was time to let the meat braze in its own steam, that way it would be able to seep all of that delicious flavor in every open pore of the meat while letting no more of it escape into the air...no matter how delicious at it made the cabin smell. With everything now finally done 15 minutes later, he had cracked open his fourth beer of the day. He was only just about to dig in before an awful yelping started from outside; it wasn't the normal kind that came from Jake when the odd camper stumbled past his property...it sounded far more distressed than that. With a look of worry passing across his weathered face, Jake strode quickly over to his gun rack and retrieved his hunting rifle from it. Just like Jake, he usually opted to adopt an appearance of elderly weakness when he was forced to deal with others, but in the privacy of his own home and property, he was still as limber and spry as his fighting days. Even with his act, he stood at a powerful 6"2' and was built like a solid ton of brick; his unbuttoned flannel jacket, white undershirt, and worn blue jeans did very little to conceal these facts either, not that he could hide the rough stubble that covered his face or the thick black hair that sat slicked back atop his head.
Even if grey had begun to creep into it, it did nothing to take away from his intimidating appearance; even twenty-three years later, he still cut the imposing figure of the marine he used to be. With his eyes sharp and the yelping suddenly silenced, he rushed outside his cabin and out towards the edge of the cone of light his cabin provided, his eyes scanning the dark frantically for his companion. "Jake? C'mere boy, were are ya?" he called out into the darkness, even going so far as to stick two fingers into his mouth as he let out a piercing whistle that rang out into the night. When no response came, he began to scan the ground, looking for anything that might give him a clue as to what was going on, a paw print, a broken stick, anything. What he found however towards the side of his cabin however was the one thing he didn't want to...a fresh smearing of blood that looked as if something had been killed and then dragged out into the woods. He grimaced visibly and knelt down as he placed his fingers into it, finding it to be both incredibly warm and still very much in a liquid form. Whatever got killed here, it was killed only a few moments ago, that much was for sure. He was on the cusp of hoping this blood didn't belong to Jake when a sharp growling met his ears. Sam looked up from where he was kneeling and out of instinct, placed his gun up to his shoulder, his eyes focused intently on the patch of darkness where the growling had came from. "Jake? That you?" he called out, knowing damn well that growling wasn't Jake...it was too sharp, too...feral to be his dog. No sooner did that thought cross his mind did a flash of fangs and flesh leap out from the darkness, and with all the timing of a squirrel running into traffic did its chest explode into a visceral ball of blood and gore which splattered the ground around it, its body landing in its own blood with a sickening thud. Sam rose to his feet and spat on the ground, keeping a weary eye on the creature as it tried in vain to work air through its non-existent lungs before giving one final violent shudder and falling still. Sam walked carefully over to is and prodded it with the barrel of his gun, tilting his head as he inspected the fallen creature carefully.
It looked like doberman if he was seeing things correctly, but its eyes were milky white and its skin looked torn and decayed; it was as if the damn thing had torn its way up from a grave if he was being honest. He pulled the lever on his rifle down, sending the spent shell in it spiraling out before he leaned down and placed a hand on the creature, finding it to be oddly cold...it might be dead, but it was only just, it should have had at least some warmth left in it...it was like the damn thing had been dead before it had even been personally acquainted with his .270 caliber bullet. He might have pondered this longer if he hadn't heard a snarl come from behind him as a pair of heavy paws bowled him over onto the ground, and in no time at all, another creature like the one he'd just shot was atop him. If not for this rifle placed against it's chest, he would have found those gnashing fangs sinking right into his throat, but he wasn't about to be killed by some rabid flea monger on his own property, that was for sure. It's rotted face would soon find a large fist connecting with it hard enough to send it flying off onto the ground...it might not have had much of a brain left, but the part that was still active was dazed enough that Sam had enough time to get back to his feet. The creature quickly shook off the blow and turned on its heels to charge again, only to find mid-lunge that the barrel of of Sam's rifle was aimed straight on for it. If it had any sentience, this would have been the part where it thought back on all of its life choices that lead it up to this point, but what went through its mind last was the same thing that many an animal in these woods on the receiving end of Sam's gun...a very large bullet. Its head exploded like a watermelon, leaving nothing but a spray of blood and brain matter as it hit the ground and skidded a few feet before coming to a stop. With his breath as heavy as his heart, Sam moved quickly back into his cabin and bolted all of his doors shut before returning to his living room and moving his favorite chair out into the hall in front of the door. There was only one way in and out of this house, and he was going to keep an eye on it like he suspected it of being a thief; if one thing was for sure, he wasn't getting any sleep tonight.
As he settled into his seat, he rested his gun across his legs and drummed his fingers against the wood of its stock, his mind running through a multitude of things. Jake was dead now and there was nothing he could do about that...but he could keep himself alive and if those two monsters outside were any indication, he needed to get out of dodge as soon as possible and back into town. At the very least he needed to go file a report with the RPD about Jake...and at worst, he had no idea how many of those things were roaming around the forest; he wanted to believe that it had only been the two, but his army instincts told him that it was never only two threats in any given area. When the sun came up, he was going to grab his truck and head right on down to Raccoon City...it wasn't the most elaborate plan in the world, but it was the only one he could think of right now. First, however, he just needed to survive the night. "No matter how far y'get from it, war always finds a way t'drag y'back in..." he muttered dryly as he prepared himself for what felt like the longest night he'd been a part of in a long, long time...
He'd been told before that drinking before the afternoon was a bad idea, but as far as he was concerned, it was the afternoon somewhere in the world and since he had no plans for the day that involved leaving his house, things would be just fine. Sure he needed to check what was making his truck hiccup like it was, but that could wait. It wasn't like he was going to need to head into town today and he had all the parts to work with here, he was just going to sit back, enjoy the good weather, and probably knock back a six-pack while he cleared the cobwebs out of his head. As the day progressed, things seemed to work out just the way he was planning them to; by the time he was cooking dinner, he'd already finished 5 crosswords and was well into his 6th before he had set it down to tenderize the venison he was about to cook up. It wasn't a complicated recipe, all it required was a quick dip into his special sauce; a little beer (of course), some smashed up blueberries he'd managed to pick the day before, salt, and cinnamon before he set it into a pan to sear up. It might have sounded strange to someone who'd never tasted it before, but the sweetness of the berries cut out the bitterness of the beer, leaving only the rye flavoring while the salt enhanced it and the cinnamon made it sharper. All together, it took a majority of the meat's gaminess away and left it with a strong, sharp beef taste with just the right amount of sweet tang, something his grandmother had taught him once upon a time, the taste of it enough to bring him right back home again. With the Vension cooking, he set about putting together another favorite of his; he'd had the great fortune of coming across a small patch of wild yams on his last hunting trip, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't love himself a good yam. He pulled out two and put them to soak for a few minutes in some warm water as he went back to watch his venison. It was a thick cut, but he still had to keep an eye on it to make sure he didn't overdue things before the first flip...the first flip was always the most important one after all.
After he'd made that all important first flip, he went back and retrieved his yams from the water and set them on his cutting board, slicing the now soft vegetables down the middle just enough to part them without separating them completely. When he was done, he coated the whole of them in Maple Syrup and filled the centers up with small marshmallows; was this technically cheating when it came to eating his vegetables? Some might say yes, but he would tell you to shut right the hell up, these were delicious and once they finished baking in the oven, they would be all the more delicious. With his mapled candied yams now baking, he returned to his searing meat and made his second flip of the cooking process, quickly putting a pot lid over the pan after it was down. Now that both sides were cooked, it was time to let the meat braze in its own steam, that way it would be able to seep all of that delicious flavor in every open pore of the meat while letting no more of it escape into the air...no matter how delicious at it made the cabin smell. With everything now finally done 15 minutes later, he had cracked open his fourth beer of the day. He was only just about to dig in before an awful yelping started from outside; it wasn't the normal kind that came from Jake when the odd camper stumbled past his property...it sounded far more distressed than that. With a look of worry passing across his weathered face, Jake strode quickly over to his gun rack and retrieved his hunting rifle from it. Just like Jake, he usually opted to adopt an appearance of elderly weakness when he was forced to deal with others, but in the privacy of his own home and property, he was still as limber and spry as his fighting days. Even with his act, he stood at a powerful 6"2' and was built like a solid ton of brick; his unbuttoned flannel jacket, white undershirt, and worn blue jeans did very little to conceal these facts either, not that he could hide the rough stubble that covered his face or the thick black hair that sat slicked back atop his head.
Even if grey had begun to creep into it, it did nothing to take away from his intimidating appearance; even twenty-three years later, he still cut the imposing figure of the marine he used to be. With his eyes sharp and the yelping suddenly silenced, he rushed outside his cabin and out towards the edge of the cone of light his cabin provided, his eyes scanning the dark frantically for his companion. "Jake? C'mere boy, were are ya?" he called out into the darkness, even going so far as to stick two fingers into his mouth as he let out a piercing whistle that rang out into the night. When no response came, he began to scan the ground, looking for anything that might give him a clue as to what was going on, a paw print, a broken stick, anything. What he found however towards the side of his cabin however was the one thing he didn't want to...a fresh smearing of blood that looked as if something had been killed and then dragged out into the woods. He grimaced visibly and knelt down as he placed his fingers into it, finding it to be both incredibly warm and still very much in a liquid form. Whatever got killed here, it was killed only a few moments ago, that much was for sure. He was on the cusp of hoping this blood didn't belong to Jake when a sharp growling met his ears. Sam looked up from where he was kneeling and out of instinct, placed his gun up to his shoulder, his eyes focused intently on the patch of darkness where the growling had came from. "Jake? That you?" he called out, knowing damn well that growling wasn't Jake...it was too sharp, too...feral to be his dog. No sooner did that thought cross his mind did a flash of fangs and flesh leap out from the darkness, and with all the timing of a squirrel running into traffic did its chest explode into a visceral ball of blood and gore which splattered the ground around it, its body landing in its own blood with a sickening thud. Sam rose to his feet and spat on the ground, keeping a weary eye on the creature as it tried in vain to work air through its non-existent lungs before giving one final violent shudder and falling still. Sam walked carefully over to is and prodded it with the barrel of his gun, tilting his head as he inspected the fallen creature carefully.
It looked like doberman if he was seeing things correctly, but its eyes were milky white and its skin looked torn and decayed; it was as if the damn thing had torn its way up from a grave if he was being honest. He pulled the lever on his rifle down, sending the spent shell in it spiraling out before he leaned down and placed a hand on the creature, finding it to be oddly cold...it might be dead, but it was only just, it should have had at least some warmth left in it...it was like the damn thing had been dead before it had even been personally acquainted with his .270 caliber bullet. He might have pondered this longer if he hadn't heard a snarl come from behind him as a pair of heavy paws bowled him over onto the ground, and in no time at all, another creature like the one he'd just shot was atop him. If not for this rifle placed against it's chest, he would have found those gnashing fangs sinking right into his throat, but he wasn't about to be killed by some rabid flea monger on his own property, that was for sure. It's rotted face would soon find a large fist connecting with it hard enough to send it flying off onto the ground...it might not have had much of a brain left, but the part that was still active was dazed enough that Sam had enough time to get back to his feet. The creature quickly shook off the blow and turned on its heels to charge again, only to find mid-lunge that the barrel of of Sam's rifle was aimed straight on for it. If it had any sentience, this would have been the part where it thought back on all of its life choices that lead it up to this point, but what went through its mind last was the same thing that many an animal in these woods on the receiving end of Sam's gun...a very large bullet. Its head exploded like a watermelon, leaving nothing but a spray of blood and brain matter as it hit the ground and skidded a few feet before coming to a stop. With his breath as heavy as his heart, Sam moved quickly back into his cabin and bolted all of his doors shut before returning to his living room and moving his favorite chair out into the hall in front of the door. There was only one way in and out of this house, and he was going to keep an eye on it like he suspected it of being a thief; if one thing was for sure, he wasn't getting any sleep tonight.
As he settled into his seat, he rested his gun across his legs and drummed his fingers against the wood of its stock, his mind running through a multitude of things. Jake was dead now and there was nothing he could do about that...but he could keep himself alive and if those two monsters outside were any indication, he needed to get out of dodge as soon as possible and back into town. At the very least he needed to go file a report with the RPD about Jake...and at worst, he had no idea how many of those things were roaming around the forest; he wanted to believe that it had only been the two, but his army instincts told him that it was never only two threats in any given area. When the sun came up, he was going to grab his truck and head right on down to Raccoon City...it wasn't the most elaborate plan in the world, but it was the only one he could think of right now. First, however, he just needed to survive the night. "No matter how far y'get from it, war always finds a way t'drag y'back in..." he muttered dryly as he prepared himself for what felt like the longest night he'd been a part of in a long, long time...
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