Title: Under a Bad Sun (1/4)

Fandom: Resident Evil (movie-verse)

Pairing: Alice Abernathy/Claire Redfield

Rating: NC-17 for language, sex, and some situations with dub-con

Summary: It's hot, and all Claire wants is a cigarette. But when she goes searching for her fix, she finds something she never could have imagined.

Disclaimer: I don't own Resident Evil, or Claire and Alice.

Notes: This is the first multi-chapter I've written in a while. But I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Be gentle with me though, guys. I have to find my sea legs again.

XXX

"And I don't know where we belong
I think we grew under a bad sun
I know we're not like everyone
You and me we grew, under a bad sun"

Bad Sun - The Bravery

XXX

Claire needed a goddamn cigarette.

The empty, red-and-white Marlboro box lay in the cupholder next to her, the large typeface of the brand name staring back at her tauntingly. She desperately wished to reach down, flick the box open, and pull out a precious cigarette. Her fingertips twitched on the steering wheel at the thought. If only, if only. She needed to make sure to scope out their next rest stop to see if she could find any more. Brand didn't matter to her. She couldn't afford to care about things like that these days. She just needed to feel the smoke, hold it in the papery cages of her lungs.

Stringy trails of sunlight meandered through the dust-covered windows of the Hummer, and Claire squinted despite her sunglasses. The sun reflected off the gray asphalt roads and made them a blinding, glowing white. Heat waves quivered up from the ground, and Claire felt like she was roasting even inside of the vehicle. A glance over to her right showed K-mart suffering much the same in the passenger seat, trying to wipe subtly at the sheen of sweat that had started to form at her hairline.

They were somewhere in Utah, nearing the Nevada border. Most of the United States had turned into a wasteland after the wave of the outbreak ran through it, leaving endless masses of undead in its wake. However, the West was worse than anywhere else. Many places had been desert climates anyway. After the outbreak, this had only intensified. The temperatures rose to nearly unbearable levels during the day, then often plummeted to near freezing once the sun set. Trees and other foliage were rare. It was unusual to see anything in the sand except more sand.

"Claire, how long until we can stop?" K-mart asked, nimble fingers pulling her hair back into a ponytail in a futile attempt to stay cool. Claire reached over to tuck a strand of hair the girl had missed behind her ear, and she had to peel her hand from the steering wheel. Claire wrinkled her nose in disgust. She was always sweaty and it was pretty nasty. They didn't have enough spare water for anyone to clean themselves more than every couple of weeks either. She had gotten used to the smell but not the gross feeling that always hung on to her skin.

With a shrug, Claire responded, "There's a relatively nice-sized gas station about twenty miles from here. We'll stop there, then maybe send a small scouting party to the town a couple of miles past that. Not too much longer."

"Thank god," K-mart groaned, "Maybe they have clean water so I can finally freshen up a little bit. My hair is ratchet."

Claire let out a bark of laughter, "Did you seriously just say 'ratchet'?"

"Well, it's true," K-mart replied, laughing as well. Still smiling, she added, "I really do need a nice, cold shower to balance out all of this heat. I feel disgusting all the time."

Claire groaned lightly at the thought, "I second that motion. A swimming pool would be nice too. A Jacuzzi. A full-on spa. Oh, that would be fucking fantastic."

"Language, Claire," K-mart responded, and Claire threw her a sideways glance. The blonde's expression was serious, but as soon as she met Claire's eyes a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Claire swore almost as badly as LJ (which was saying something), and K-mart had given up on seriously reprimanding her for her language. It was a wasted effort.

Claire shoved lightly at the younger girl's shoulder, "Whatever, Wal-Mart."

The look she received bordered on terrifying. K-mart hated that nickname with a frightening passion, and Claire genuinely feared for her life for a second. There was a shotgun resting at the girl's feet. It wouldn't have been hard for her to blast Claire's brain matter all over the inside of the vehicle. Instead, though, the girl simply gave her a glare that could have melted the polar ice caps and reached beneath her seat. She pulled out a book with a worn cover, and her sweaty fingers left very faint wet marks on the pages as she flipped through them.

It was The Bell Jar, and it was obviously K-Mart's favorite. Claire had seen her read it at least five times - cover to cover - in just the past few months alone. She had never been fond of poetry. She wasn't much a reader, not because she disliked it, but because her body didn't like the feeling of sitting still when it could be up exercising or fight training or repairing motorcycles. Claire's brain was hardwired for constant motion, constant stimulation. She couldn't sit around and do nothing, and that was simultaneously her greatest asset and her greatest nemesis as a leader.

"You're such a jerk," Came from the passenger seat. Claire laughed lightly, and after a few moments, K-mart was lost in her book. Claire's fingers tapped lightly on the wheel, playing a half-remembered drum beat from some song, one she used to like blasting at an extremely loud volume when she spent muggy July nights driving alone on back roads with the windows down. The red-head sighed. She always wanted to be in motion, yes, and the driving did make it worse. But she usually wasn't this twitchy. Her fidgeting fingers could only hold still on the wheel for a moment, even if she gripped so tightly her knuckles whitened. It had been eleven days since her last cigarette. That was probably why. She needed to get some more sooner rather than later.

The sun had finally arrived at its highest point in the sky when Claire saw the gas station at the very farthest end of her range of vision. The building was small and she had to squint, but it was the only one nearby except for those in the town past it. Claire pulled her walkie-talkie from her hip and pressed the button at the top, "Okay guys, our stop is up there."

A chorus of acknowledgement echoed back to her from each of the other vehicles in the convoy. Despite the fact she had just heard their voices, all accounted for, Claire looked into the rearview mirror and counted the number of trucks behind her just to be safe. Everyone was following her with no apparent issues. Her eyes then flicked to K-mart. The girl didn't seem to have heard Claire's message to the others, her hair already climbing out of her ponytail and curtaining her face as she read her book with her lips slightly parted. With a soft smile, Claire returned her vision to the road and the building growing closer and closer.

In a few moments, they were all pulled into the parking lot. The rumbling of the Hummer stopped when Claire turned it off, and K-mart must have felt the subtle absence of motion, because she dog-eared the page in her book somewhat lovingly and pushed it back under her seat. Claire brought her walkie-talkie back up to her lips, "Carlos, LJ, search this place for any undead."

"Already on it, Claire," Carlos replied, and even as he did, Claire saw him and LJ approach the building slowly with their guns drawn. The glass was broken and stained on the jagged edges in a few places - a rust color that was probably blood. From Claire's position the gas station looked empty, but she could never be too sure. She grabbed the shotgun from K-mart's feet, checked to confirm the presence of the Glock at her hip, and climbed out of the truck just in case something went wrong.

She had no reason to worry, because a few moments later, Carlos and LJ returned. The former Umbrella soldier came up to her, his expression light, "None of those bastards in there. I did see some bottled waters, though, and some food that looked salvageable."

"Good," Claire said, and looked around her. People were already climbing out of vehicles, knowing by Claire, Carlos, and LJ's body language that they were safe. She turned to her group and waved her hand in an all-encompassing gesture, talking loudly enough for them to hear, "You all know what to search for. Food, water, other supplies. Let's get going, folks. We can spend the night here then get moving in the morning after we scout out the next town."

She heard some slight grumbling from a few members of her convoy at the mention of leaving in the morning. Claire ignored them. She knew moving was one huge reason they were still alive. They didn't know that, but Claire restrained herself and managed not to go off on a tangent towards the complainers. Even if they didn't like her methods, they kept people alive. That was all that mattered, even if they complained.

Claire walked into the gas station, pushing through the door and searching immediately for what she was looking for. She scowled in disappointment at what she saw. Someone had already raided this place of cigarettes. During the end of the world, they were popular game. Some of the first things looted from abandoned stores tended to be cigarettes and alcohol. After all, what did anyone have to lose anymore? They were bad for you but with the very real possibility of death finding you any given moment, what was the point in fearing the effects?

With a sigh, Claire started gathering bottles of water from the refrigerators that no longer worked. She carried them out in her arms and started loading them into the backs of vehicles, working methodically. Simultaneously, she kept an eye on her people and her surroundings, in case any threats had simply left and decided to come back again later, or something new heard the sound of their vehicles and approached. The focus and the labor kept her body busy, and the twitching subsided.

Over an hour later, the building was clear of anything useful, and camp was set up. Wood was stacked for fires that would be started once the temperature began to drop. The children were sitting in circles in the sand, using the trucks around them as shade, talking about whatever young children talked about. Claire couldn't remember herself at that age, except for all of the times she and Chris would wrestle on the floor. They never held back, and usually both came out bruised or bleeding. They laughed afterwards. Always.

She didn't realize she was smiling at the memory until Chase came up to her, "What are you so happy about?"

"Nothing, just thinking," Claire responded, forcing herself not to blush lightly in embarrassment at being caught reminiscing. She liked to keep up the belief that she was far past those maudlin longings, that she was too strong for them.

Chase's accent was always a little thicker when he was in a good mood, "Well, I'm about to make you smile even more."

"Is that so?" Claire questioned, her heart skipping in her chest a little bit at the words. Her body was achy from the heat and some good news to focus on would be nice.

Chase nodded, grinning, "We found some gas still here. A lot, actually. It added about two weeks' worth to the tanker."

Two weeks worth was a huge find these days. It was more than she expected for sure, and she resisted the urge to hug the cowboy, "That's great! Two weeks can go a long way."

"Glad I could make your day, Ms. Redfield," Chase replied, and tipped his hat at her. She chuckled, and he motioned to the tanker with his head, "I'm taking first watch tonight, so I'm going to go ahead and get some rest."

Claire nodded, smiling at him one last time as he turned and left. Almost as soon as he was gone, her fidgeting came back even though she was happy about their success at the gas station. Her fingers tapped at the side of the Hummer, and Claire bit her lip, annoyed. She couldn't take this. She knew she wasn't planning on sending scouts to the town until the morning, to check it before the convoy headed in that direction, but she didn't particularly want to wait anymore. She was going to go crazy before then.

"Carlos," Claire said into her walkie-talkie, "Meet me by the hummer in five."

Exactly five minutes later, the man appeared in front of her. She looked at him seriously and said, "I'm taking the bike and I'm going to go stake out the town."

"Now? By yourself?" The apprehension in his voice was immediate and he looked somewhat startled. Claire was usually the one who insisted on a buddy system. But it was a small town and she wasn't incredibly worried about what it held in store for her. She didn't really like leaving the convoy, but she really wanted to do this one alone. Maybe the heat was getting to her head. That was probably it. Heat, and withdrawal. She really needed to try to kick the cigarette habit eventually, she supposed.

Claire shrugged, "I'll take extra weapons and extra ammo. But I'll be fine. I'll check it out and be back by sunset. Maybe sooner if there's nothing there."

"There are two seats on the bike," Carlos reminded her, as though she had forgotten. It was a not-so-subtle hint that he wanted to come with her, or at least send someone else with capable gun firing abilities. She set her resolve, and when he met her eyes he knew he couldn't sway her. With a reluctant nod, he said, "I'll get Mikey to help me get it out for you."

Claire smiled at him, "Thanks, Carlos."

"You're welcome. Just don't do anything stupid."

XXX

Claire never felt more powerful than she did with a motorcycle beneath her.

The engine of her Ducati Diavel Strada hummed through her body as it sped along the roads. Her hair whipped around her face, her jacket tugged back and flapped in the wind. It was still obnoxiously warm, but less so now that she was going fast enough to deflect the majority of the heat.

She had her two Glocks holstered to either hip, a shotgun and a rifle on her back, a knife against her left boot, another pistol against her right. She was armed and dangerous, with a powerful machine pushing her forward at incredible speeds. Claire knew she probably looked pretty damn badass, and she gave a closed-mouth smile at the idea of it. She would have laughed or grinned full-out, but she didn't want to get a bug stuck in her teeth.

It took only a few minutes before she crossed into the town. It really was small, and Claire slowed her bike as she wove through it. No undead attacked her. That, however, didn't mean they weren't there at all. They were probably hidden in buildings or something. They would approach her sooner rather than later because of the sound her bike was making.

After a few moments, Claire decided to start her exploration of the small area in a small 24/7 corner shop. She could see cigarettes on the back wall if she squinted. Carefully, Claire pulled her motorcycle up to the curb and stopped it, patting the seat affectionately after she dismounted. With practiced ease, Claire pulled her Glock from its holster and pointed it in front of her as she walked as silently into the store as possible.

The smell of death hit her before anything else. Her eyes watered and her throat closed with the taste of rising bile. Claire swallowed hard and forced the feelings back, listening for any movement. There was nothing, and as she approached the counter, she found the source of the stench. It was a partially-decomposed woman lying behind a shelf, her stomach torn open, the majority of her entrails missing from the cavity. Some of her skin was rotting off, leaving sinewy tendrils of muscle and crisp gleams of bone behind. There was a bullet hole in her forehead. Someone had killed her. Or maybe re-killed her. She was too far into the process of decomposition for the red-head to decide all that well. Claire turned away quickly before she could gag or actually vomit.

She searched the rest of the store quickly but thoroughly. Satisfied with its emptiness, she found the cigarettes behind the counter, and easily planted a hand and swung her legs over it. She shoved several packs into the pockets of her cargo pants, her fidgeting fingers stilling just at the fact the cigarettes were in her grip, there to be used if Claire wanted to. With a grin, Claire walked over to the counter to hurtle herself back over it. She chuckled lightly when she saw the sign still taped to it, demanding that IDs had to be shown by anyone wishing to purchase cigarettes.

That didn't matter now. Claire didn't even have her old wallet with her driver's license and her motorcycle license in it anymore. She had left it at home when the outbreak had first started and she had left her home in a panicked rush to go find Chris.

Her thoughts of her brother had distracted her, and she didn't hear the noise until it was nearly upon her.

Claire's head snapped up so quickly her sunglasses slid down her nose. The undead was staring at her, its jaws opened like a cavern, crooked stalagmite teeth ready to rip into her flesh, a crackling moan escaping from the depths of its throat. Claire swallowed a surprised shriek, lifted the gun that was still in her hand, and fired. Her shaking hands managed to put a bullet in the creature's skull just as it lunged towards her throat. The body fell to the ground with a thud, each limb landing and jostling a few times. The sound of more growling and moaning then came from the back of the store. Claire had no time to try to figure out how and when the fuck the monsters had come in.

She propelled herself over the counter, shoved her sunglasses up in front of her eyes, and sprinted out the door through which she'd entered the store. The single gunshot had drawn more attention. She could see undead ghouls clambering from every direction now, from buildings and alleys and the middle of the street.

A million thoughts tore through Claire's mind in a matter of seconds.

They were so quiet. Why didn't they come out when they heard my motorcycle?

I knew there would be some, but this many? This is insane.

Why was I so stupid? I shouldn't have come here by myself.

Fuck, I need to give up cigarettes if I survive this. I'm such an idiot. What about the convoy? What about K-mart? This is all my fault for being so goddamn stupid.

Oh god. Oh god. What am I going to do?

The zombies from the convenience store behind her were coming closer. Desperately, Claire raced to her Ducati. She powered the engine and took off down the street, occasionally having to swerve violently to avoid a rogue undead stumbling through the road, claw-like hands aimed towards ripping free pieces of her sun-heated flesh. They were closing her in. Claire realized that a moment after she took off on the bike. Maybe it was accidental. Maybe instinctive. Maybe it was a cognitive strategy. Claire didn't really know. But they were circling around her to block her in.

Knowing it was hopeless, Claire stopped the bike. They were all around her, moving closer, just a block away at most on any given side. Her blood was pounding hot and rapid near the surface of her skin. She knew they could probably smell it.

Claire heard screaming as she tugged her Glocks from their leather holster. The sound was raw and animalistic and terrified. It took a moment to register that the horrible noise was her doing. A sob tore from her throat but she refused to cry. She held up her guns, prepared to fight every last one of the motherfuckers approaching her.

Claire Redfield was going to die, but she was going to die a badass.

A very stupid one, her mind decided to add, and the thought simultaneously made her stomach clench and her anger flare.

The first group was upon her in just a few seconds. There were seven of them, and Claire took them out methodically, a single bullet to the skull each time, bodies crumpling lifelessly to the ground - for good this time. For an instant, her success gave her confidence. Then she glanced around, and the multitude of undead finally registered. She didn't have enough bullets, and they would overwhelm her too quickly even if she did.

Claire took on the next group, emptying the bullets from her first Glock and desperately working to make use of the other one. Now, there were no pauses. The undead upon her were always replaced when fallen, as if they went through meiosis every few moments and produced another drooling, hungering copy.

When her second Glock ran out, Claire whipped it at the nearest zombie hard enough to kill it, and it hit the ground with enough force coagulated blood and gray bits of brain matter splattered like a wild painting on the ground and on Claire's boots. For a hysterical second, she was upset about soiling the leather. Then she was firing off shots with her shotgun and her desperate focus came back to her.

Soon that emptied too. There was no time for her to reach down and pull her pistol from her boot. They would rip her to shreds before she could. Her fists flew instead, knocking heads backwards, pushing away clambering bodies. Necks snapped, blood fell. But Claire was tired. Already, lactic acid was burning her muscles, and her body was collapsing in on itself with exhaustion. She couldn't do it anymore.

An attempt to kick a zombie in the head resulted in a stray, flailing arm smashing into her gut. The blow knocked her to her knees; it was in that moment Claire realized it was over. She looked up at the crazed faces around her, baring her teeth in a snarl.

This would be her last defiance. She would die with her eyes open, filled with the hatred she felt for Umbrella for turning the world to this.

A decaying hand gripped her shoulder. Gnarled fingers, broken nails, and flesh riddled with infection pulled her backwards; she could feel hot breath on her throat, and she fought the desire to close her eyes. She waited for teeth to close on her neck, ripping out her jugular, tearing free stringy chunks of her muscle. Claire could hear nothing but the blood rushing past her ears, and the sporadic rhythm of her heart as it rose, hot and slick, to punch her in the roof of her mouth.

The feeling never came. The hand released her throat with a force, and Claire looked up, startled. Around her, the undead had fallen back, and Claire felt the ground beneath her tremble as they were blasted backwards again. Once they were around fifty feet away from her, they started catching fire. Pyres of flame and smoke rose all around her, like a wall. Claire watched with wide, terrified eyes as her certain death went up in flames around her.

It took only a moment or two before there was nothing remaining but ash. Claire stumbled to her feet, spinning around wildly and hysterically, looking for anything else that might attack her. When she turned around completely, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of a woman standing just five or six feet away. Her pupils were huge, her body trembling. Her hair was blonde form sun exposure, her skin stained with a perfect tan. A headscarf was wrapped around her. She had two blades holstered to her back. Pistols were at her hips. Claire swallowed at the intensity in the woman's face, and as her pupils slowly grew smaller, revealing ice-blue irises, the red-head realized that she had set the undead on fire.

Claire swallowed and asked apprehensively, "Who are you?" The woman opened her mouth to answer, but her eyes fluttered. Her body swayed. A trail of dark red blood dripped from her nose, venturing over her slightly-parted lips.

The woman collapsed, and Claire barely rushed forwards in time to catch her.

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