"Are they military?"
"There was no one else but him."
"They're already bombing cities—we have to find a way out of here."
"I told you it was a bad idea. Yelling like a lunatic was only going to alert everyone. Now the entire damn building and the area around it are swarming with those monsters. Goddammit." A man named Ben wouldn't stop complaining after hearing everything that had happened.
Alan, who was in the room, began reloading his magazines in silence.
A woman approached him and asked, "Military?"
"Seems like you already know the answer," Alan replied, recognizing her as one of the people who had helped him bring in his equipment.
"You look the part. Special forces, right?"
"Does that matter now?" Alan finished loading another magazine and moved on to the next.
"I'm Claire Redfield, FBI agent. It would be very helpful if you could share everything you know about the infection that spread so quickly." Claire's tone wasn't arrogant, which made Alan more willing to share what he knew.
"Well, to put it simply, everyone's dying—some faster than others. My idea is to get to one of the military bases near the Mexican border and, somehow, establish a decent spot to create a functional shelter in good condition." Alan shared his plan with Claire, who seemed to have more common sense than the rest of the group.
"Mind sharing with the rest of us what you're whispering about?" Ben wasn't friendly at all. His hostility toward Alan was obvious.
"None of your business, Ben," Claire replied with a mocking smile toward the desperate man begging to be saved.
At that moment, a little boy being held by a woman said, "Mom, I'm sleepy!"
The older woman looked frightened by her son's words. She quickly bent down and hugged him tightly.
"Eric, what's wrong, sweetheart?"
But at that moment, Eric couldn't respond. He tightly closed his eyes and murmured, "Mom, I'm really hot…"
The woman quickly touched her son's forehead, only to find it was burning up. She remembered she had just taken off his coat and placed it on his head, but she herself had touched the rain with her hands earlier—she might be sick too.
"Eric, sweetheart, don't scare me…" She hugged her son as she began to understand what was happening.
Just then, a middle-aged man in a suit said, "That child is infected. I told you we shouldn't let outsiders in without making sure they weren't infected first. Get him out of here now or we're all going to die!"
As soon as he said it, others started giving in to fear as well:
"Yeah, throw him out—we can't risk exposure because of a kid!"
"I don't think either of them is okay. We need to get rid of both of them."
"That's right—she might be infected too! We're not safe!"
"And that guy over there—we don't know if he's infected or not! He looks injured—we need to check him!"
The accusation against Alan came suddenly.
It was as if everything that had happened to them was now his fault. But no one stepped forward to actually remove anyone. Everyone just stood in silence.
Clang!
At the sound of Alan chambering a round, no one dared to move.
"Are you people animals?" Claire asked angrily.
"The military killed people who were only looking for help. What makes him any different from the ones who killed our loved ones?" A woman pointed at Alan. To her, he was just another soldier.
"She's right. We shouldn't trust people like him."
Alan expected this reaction. He was wearing military gear he had found along the way. That's why he said nothing. He simply loaded his weapon and walked to the corner of the warehouse to rest.
Claire sighed at the sight. There was little she could do to change people's minds—especially when they were all clinging to an idea too deeply rooted to pull out.