Owen Miller is twelve years old. He is small, kind, and frightened of loud noises. He has never held a weapon. He has never been alone after dark.
He cannot fight. He cannot drive. He cannot shoot. He cannot outrun a grown man. He has spent his whole life being told that adults will keep him safe.

It is the morning of September 25th, 1998.
By tonight, the adults are not coming.

The streets are not empty. Something is moving on them. Something that does not think, does not stop, does not speak — only wants. The shape of a person, hollowed out and still walking. And there are more of them than there are of him.
There is always more of them than there is of him.

He is twelve.
He is alone.
He has a backpack and a long way home.
The city is awake, and the city is starving, and Raccoon City does not care that he is a child.