Author's note: A big thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! The title of this chapter is by Queen. I thought it fit Billy well since he has to avoid "death" or more precisely the law. Translations will also be at the end of chapter.
Important note: Originally last chapter one of Rebecca's love interests was named David but it was brought to my attention by reviewers that there was already a David in the novels. So to avoid confusion I decided to rename him Felix Anderson – hopefully that's not taken either.
II.
It was warm and a bit humid in Mexico. Nothing that anyone didn't get used to after living there for quite some time. In Billy Coen's case, he had been living here ever since his flee from Arklay Mountains. How many years had it been? He lost care to count after three. It didn't matter anyways.
Inside the bar it was cool and there were several people sitting on the bar chairs near the table alongside him. It wasn't too crowded. It was sort of peaceful too—the setting. The small bar area gave a sort of "homey" feeling to it.
"Senor? Quieres algo mas?"
Billy turned his attention to the young bartender. She is a young, little thing more than likely twenty-one but she looked as young as eighteen. Her hair is a pretty shade of reddish-brown that cascaded past her shoulders in curly like waves. What got to him (aside from the obvious fact that such a kid was working in a bar) were her eyes. They are widely innocently shaped and a bright green like trees, lively. The green also brought out her tanned skin but he wasn't paying attention to that.
It was because she looked a little like her…
"Senor?" The bartender questioned again softly.
Being in Mexico for as long as he had, Billy knew enough Spanish to get him by. It didn't mean he was fluent or anything but it was something. His speaking wasn't so bad either despite the obvious lack of accent. Anyone calling him "senor" made him feel awfully old though. He wasn't old either really.
'Denial?' His inner mind told himself mockingly.
And as if to agree with his inner mind, another voice echoed clearly in his head, a soft and melodic voice. "And how old are you grandpa? Thirty?"
It was the same girl that the bartender reminded him of: Rebecca Chambers, the kid from S.T.A.R.S. He had thought the word "kid" had suited her well upon first seeing her. She had radiated such a strong aura of innocence and childlikeness to her that his first thought were that recruiters of S.T.A.R.S were out of their mind for hiring such a young looking girl. She had held her own in the end though he realized and was extremely resilient and brilliant despite her youth. Billy was never really a science man but he knew that she had always known what she was talking about when it came to the subject. It was her area of expertise after all. She seemed to take pride in having graduated out of college in biochemistry at such a young age. It was something to brag and be proud about he had to admit.
For some reason he felt a weird bitter stirring in the pit of his stomach and the almost empty beer can in his right hand felt like it was weighing him down.
"Uno mas," Billy answered finally and then added just because he was a gentleman despite it all, "por favor."
The young girl flushed at the sound of his smooth, low voice and hurriedly walked towards the back to get his drink. Billy would have smirked in arrogance had he not realized that she was terribly young and he was far too old to be teasing little girls. Instead he turned his attention back to his can and took a last swig of it. The bitter liquid slipped down his throat and he felt a bit better. He wasn't a big drinker but he felt at the moment he needed the peace of mind that came with drinking. A sort of numbing feeling.
He was safe here. The Marines' jurisdiction ended in the Mexican border after all. And while he wasn't entirely too sure if Rebecca had done anything on her part, there appeared to be no one looking for him. A voice deep down told him that she was probably the reason for that. It didn't matter though. In the end the two went on with their separate lives that had been for those few hours during the outbreak nightmare entwined.
His dark blue eyes glanced up at the small television balanced on a small stand up above. The antenna was terrible and static lines showed every now and then but the sound was clear. A middle aged woman dressed professionally in a black coat with a gray pencil skirt was talking on the screen in Spanish with a heavy accent. She was talking fast and the words slurred out of her lips perfectly and fluently. Unfortunately for Billy he couldn't catch a lick of what she was saying because of it. He doubted it was important regardless but curiosity got the better of him. She was after all talking very animatedly with gestures and obvious fascinated facial expressions.
The young bartender returned with his drink and settled it in front of him. She must have noticed his interested expression because she cocked her head to her side, observing him interestedly. He motioned his head to the television in response to her staring.
"I can't understand a thing she's saying," he said amused but then realized she probably wouldn't understand what he was saying. English had slipped out of his lips involuntarily.
She blinked her doe like eyes, once, twice and then her eyebrows furrowed down in contemplation. It looked like she was confused. Just when Billy thought about retracing his words and telling her never mind in Spanish, a light appeared in her eyes; something like a light bulb moment where a person realizes something.
"She's talking about the…contamination that happened here. Many people sick. She says that a group is being sent to help." She spoke slowly and with a very obvious accent that didn't stop her from continuing with a little struggle.
"Ah..," Billy replied with a nod and turned his attention to the television once again for a few seconds. "Gracias." And he smiled, to be polite, at her that turned out more charming than he intended by her response.
She blushed softly, prettily, and excused herself to help someone else. When she was gone, Billy opened the other can and it made a small pstt sound. He raised the can up to his lips and took a sip. It was cool and bitter like the other before. Due to the heat here it helped cool him off.
It wasn't a surprise to him that there was a contamination recently. Mexico had its areas that weren't the best. Of course, there were also areas that were beautiful, with flowing riversides, and green grass. Unfortunately he didn't reside in the latter but he didn't complain. It wasn't like he had the privilege to be picky about where he lived. Pickiness wasn't exactly a characteristic of his to begin with either. He lived in the cheapest rented housing he could find that he could easily pay off with his construction working. Manual labor was easy for him. The heat was something he was used to due to his service in the past.
He hadn't heard much of the outside world. Sometimes he felt like it didn't exist anymore.
The dark haired male scratched a spot on his neck that itched then. It still felt a bit odd for him not to be wearing his dog tags. He had worn them during his service and despite the fact that he hadn't worn them for years now there was a sort of strange, empty feeling when he didn't feel them around his neck. It had become something that served as a name to him and now even that was gone.
'Well not entirely…' He thought idly.
She had taken them after all. What she had done with them afterwards he didn't know. Should it even matter? No, not really and yet at times he couldn't help but wonder what she had done with them. It had surprised him when she had without hesitation snatched them from around his neck. She didn't place them in her pocket—no, she had placed them around her slender neck. Then her next words spoken made it all clear to him. She was going to use them as evidence for his death. She was letting him go—giving him his freedom.
The remembrance of their parting made a strange wistful feeling stir in the pit of his stomach. Something along the lines of longing too that mirrored almost exactly how he had felt that same day. It had taken his by surprise as well how much just he and she had gone through and lived to tell about another day. In the beginning she had been more like an obligation for him to protect, leaving her to die would leave a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, but in the end she turned out to be-
He couldn't entirely say. His partner fitted well but seemed more like an afterthought.
'You're thinking too much about a kid Coen.' He scolded himself internally.
But that wasn't entirely the case his mind defended. She would be much older now. Probably nearing her late twenties but he was still seven years older than her. She didn't seem the type bothered by age, however, unless it was directed towards her. Throughout their time together she had been very adamant about not being a 'little girl.' It had amused him.
Billy shook those thoughts away and directed his attention back to the television. The woman was still talking and he caught the brief word of the group called "TerraSave" and assumed they were the ones the bartender was talking about. He rubbed a few fingers on his chin feeling the bristles of facial hair. He hadn't shaved in a day or so and probably should soon, least he end up growing a beard. Facial hair was something he wasn't big on seeing as his days in the Marines he had always his face shaved and clean. It had become a habit.
The Ex-Marine took a final, longer gulp of his drink and placed some cash on the counter, heading off. It was still hot outside, probably worse seeing that it was now the afternoon. His dark brown wife-beater clung to his muscles snug and made him feel slightly sticky with sweat. Probably if he wore shorts instead of jeans like he normally did it wouldn't be so bad but he still wore jeans regardless. He got stared at anyways despite that. The intricate tattoo on his arm didn't help. The fact that the designs spelled out "mother love" really didn't matter—it still made him look shifty. He scoffed to himself mentally.
'Aside from the fact that I'm American, of course.' He added to himself sardonically.
Not all of them were accepting of the fact that he was an American residing here. He had come across a couple of men who had, despite Billy's limited knowledge of Spanish, muttered some words that sounded bad enough. He ignored the whispers. For him to beat them up wouldn't change anything. If they thought he was a stupid, lazy American than he couldn't do anything to change their opinion. It didn't mean he accepted it—hell no, he didn't. He just dealt with it regardless. He could be the better man; he would be the better man.
Other people walked down the dirt pathways. When a breeze blew in, dust would disperse in the air unfortunately and it was for that reason Billy suddenly wished he had a pair of sunglasses on him. His eyes merely squinted in response when dust gathered. Several little stands were set up selling things like fruits, foods, jewelry and even certain clothing items. The sellers all tried calling out to him as he passed but he merely gave them a polite "no, thanks" in Spanish and continued on his way.
When he finally did reach his house, he jammed his key into the keyhole and struggled with the lock. The locks tended to always cause a problem with him. The key always got jammed in the lock. He could have changed the locks but the urge to do that very thing never came up so he merely tolerated it. After struggling with the lock for a few seconds he finally got it open and pushed open the door. It screeched a bit loud before coming to a halt. Billy closed and locked the door after him, afterwards heading into the small room. The flooring was made out of wood but the wood was dirty and dusty with age.
Billy walked over to the small, single couch in the center of the otherwise empty living room. It was an old grayish couch that could fit only two people. He sat down and began to untie his brown booted shoes. He had night shift today at a gas station down south from his house. Tomorrow he had morning duty at the construction site. Because he wasn't always needed at the construction site he had taken upon himself to get another job, at night in case, to save up money. He hardly slept because of it at times when he had to go to both jobs but his body took the strain. Finally getting the knots untied, he slipped the shoes off and leaned back into the couch. It was quiet in the house except for the occasional chattering sound of bypassing passengers heard from the window.
Sometimes at times like this he thought about how things were before all that happened. He thought about his childhood years living with his mother, his sweet, caring, fragile mother, and that man—his father. His decision to join the Marines was more or less his attempt to get away, however, in the end his own comrades had betrayed him. He was just a scapegoat to them—someone who tried to defend someone else and got walked over. It hadn't mattered if he had pleaded not guilt. In the end he was condemned as a murder. Scum.
"I'm not going to judge you. I just need to know."
And there was her. Rebecca. She had been just someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had made a truce with her mainly because he hadn't wanted to die—and the part of him with a conscience didn't want her to die either. When he had told her the truth about his past, he could tell that she honestly didn't believe he killed anyone. She was far too trusting.
But at least there was one person out there in the world that believed him.
Billy sighed, a low sigh, and closed his eyes, placing the back of his hand above his eyes. It was still hard to sleep for him sometimes. The images of dead bodies and spilled blood of the innocent village haunted him at times. He could deal with images of zombies and the shit him and Rebecca faced but he couldn't deal with the deaths of people that deserved to live—those he failed to save.
The sounds of gunshots being fired and bullets hitting the ground along with the tormenting cries of people echoed in his head still. Even the sounds of his desperate voice trying to reason with the commander to stop as well as the feeling of the heavy, blow of the end of a shotgun against his head that had made his head pound and spin out of control. Billy felt a cold sweat come across his body in remembrance.
He had risked his life during his service in the Marines and ironically they now to this very day still held his life in their corrupt, murdering hands. He was in hiding but he could never really escape out of their clutches. Death after all was an impossible thing to run away from.
But for now he kept running and would keep running until the bitter end.
Ending note: The following chapters should be longer. These first two just served as a set of prologues. Comments, thoughts, and feedback are as always appreciated!
On another note it actually is pretty hard to reside in Mexico without being a citizen. You can't actually own a house if you aren't! I made Billy's landlord very nice.
Spanish Translations:
Senor: Formal; mostly used to address an older male.
"Queires algo mas?" – Want something more/else?
"Uno mas." – One more.
"Por favor." – Please.
There's accent marks in the Senor (~) as well as the mas (`) but I couldn't figure out how to put them up in Microsoft. Erm, sorry?