Thanks to a van parked in the alley behind Kendo's, Leon's straight shot to the station had taken a few detours -- through an infested basket-ball court, another alley, and a parked bus that had reeked from the sprawled corpses inside. It was a nightmare, punctuated with whispering howls, the stink of decay, and once, a distant explosion that made his limbs feel weak. And though he had to shoot three more of the walking dead and was wired to the teeth with adrenaline and horror, he somehow managed to hold on to his hope that the RPD building would be a safe haven, that there would be some kind of crisis center set up, manned by police and paramedics -- people in authority making decisions and marshaling forces. It wasn't just a hope, it was a need; the possibility that there might be no one left in Raccoon to take charge was unthinkable.

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