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Appreciated. LazyLuna I hope you like this one.
Chapter 4. "So It Spreads . . ."
Leon went over the room, searching for anything that could give him peace of mind. He rested for a little bit. The floor creaked around easily, so he travelled with caution.
The man wouldn't take a chance given his previous experience's in this place. Up ahead was a door.
He cracked it open a bit, just enough to get a sliver of vision, and saw a wide, messy room. Fallen antics scattered out into the darkness, littering the old floor.
He peered into the hideous room, the floorboards creeping beneath him like old piano keys. It smelled that of a mausoleum, stygian and rotting.
So he snuck into the chamber, trying desperately not to make much noise against the putrefied paneling.
A cold chill shot through the base of his neck, and the dust kicked up across the floor. He stopped in place, frozen forever.
Leon scanned the room, looking desperately for anything he could to escape.
But there was nothing, nothing that he could see, anyway. It was so inky that, at best, he had roughly a foots worth field of vision.
A frigid voice greeted his ears, shaky and raspy.
"Eeeeh . . . It's passed your bedtime, sunny boy." It sent sparks down his spine as a candlelight flickered into being, revealing a filthy mirror and woman sitting on a stool across from it, staring into it . . .
Her dress was muddied, and her hair stiffly straw. He spotted a wound on her neck, and quickly realized it was broken.
Nevertheless, her head vibrated back and forth, making a sick cracking noise that grew louder with each snap.
"If you don't go to sleep . . . I'll have to ground you."
Deep down, he wanted nothing more than to go home, if she was just normal enough that he could go and be in her embrace again, for a moment of relief.
He crouched down and started moving between the mess.
To his left was the back of an old couch, while to his right was a grouping of old moving boxes and antiques.
His eyes caught the sight of another door. A way out.
Yes! He thought to himself, and felt butterflies swarm his stomach. Moving one leg forward, he tried to move as subtly as possible, crawling to the door.
Inch by inch, little by little . . . getting there . . . almost close . . .
A sudden sound of crashing glass broke the creeping silence. Leon covered his mouth to avoid making any slight loud breath.
Leon turned and realized he could not escape this. She would locate him.
"RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA . . . Where are you, sweetie!? Let mommy give you a hug, just like what you did for me . . ." She contorted her neck and inhaled like a cancer patient.
The scream and the scratched-out voice barely resembled her, but thankfully, she still didn't know where he was, it seemed.
She'd thrown a glass snowflake he recognized as a decoration. Many, many, many Christmases ago, it hung on their wall . . .
It clanged against the wall, breaking into a million pieces.
His legs trembled, threatening to buckle under him. Sweat dribbled from his left temple down to his shoulder.
He heard her stilted walking, the way she was trudging along the floor.
The man had to make a run for it.
Leon's eyes caught the sight of a large empty hole a few feet deep, for some odd reason.
He thought to himself, 'I have to find something to get out, that has to be the way! Without that, I'll be trapped here! With . . . her.'
Uttering a silent howl of frustration, Leon turned and ran for it.
The crawl space ended abruptly, stopping over at least a nine-foot drop to an empty tunnel.
His ears ringing, his mouth dry as dust, Leon grabbed the edges of the square hole, closed his eyes, and jumped.
He swung out over the tube and let go as soon as he was straight up and down, falling and landing crooked as his right leg crumpled.
It hurt, but he hardly felt it. Thanks adrenaline.
Scrambling on hands and knees to get out of the way, he stared up at the hole to see if she was near . . .
"Mom . . . !" He whispered, clenching his fist. "I'm sorry."
He found himself in a carpeted room with a drab, faded coloring to the walls.
There was a large table, well-cleaned, in front of a chimney, like someone was preparing for a dinner party.
Leon felt a powerful presence before him. He felt strange, and didn't know if what it was was friendly or not.
He heard echoes of footsteps somewhere close to him, but his flashlight could not pick up any kind of silhouette.
"Ken-nedy, my boy." He heard a deep, calm voice talk to him. He looked quickly to the left and he did not see a glimpse of anything.
Then came a sense of sudden motionlessness, like time itself stopped for some reason.
The sound of one, lonely drop catching the tip of his shoes woke him up. His flashlight trailed down and there was the crimson color that seeped down to the ground.
Leon felt nothing at first, but the sense of dread engulfed him in mere seconds.
He did not want to move one step.
his flashlight trailed up to the ceiling, and a white hair was the very first thing he saw.
A loud shout broke through his dry throat, as he jolted back. He kept the light shining still on the figure . . . up there.
The rough cheek bones and clean, swept to the side, greying hair. The glasses, the rugged face, it's all the same.
His arms were crossed as he watched Leon closely.
"A-Adam!?" The words came out of his mouth involuntarily.
The president fell over backwards and convulsed, pushing himself up again. His head kept twitching sideways.
He looked like he was in the middle of a seizure, but . . . he was strangely peaceful.
"You-know, thsi reminds me . . . Of-that old-timey televi-sion show . . . What was it called again?" Adam sneered in a casual tone. His face held gentleness over the grotesqueness of his appearance.
A half a smile appeared on his face.
He spasmed toward the door and motioned with his hand to follow.
Leon did not know what to think. The man had said something familiar. Was it from an old conversation they'd had? It does sound a lot like the man; the face and attitude.
His flashlight kept following Adam until he opened the door and vanished through a wall of dark.
He gulped and swallowed hard, and his throat crackled against the saliva. It felt soar now, raspy.
Leon didn't remember the feeling of getting sick. Could he even get a disease here? He really didn't want to find out.
Trekking forward, he exercised caution as peeked his hand through. The surface reacted like a liquid, rippling as his fingers grazed by it.
A bead of sweat poored down to his eye, and he rubbed it away, annoyed.
It didn't feel bad, nor did it feel welcoming, but at least it felt safer than where he was. Time would tell how long it felt that way.
He swallowed again and placed his hand all the way inside it, then moving the rest of himself through. Once on the other side, he turned around and saw he'd just entered from a stone wall.
Leon grasped at the surface to see if it was an illusion.
No . . . No, there's no turning back.
The next room was quite large, possessing no significant structures to block his view.
The barely lit room had a faded grey color, like time ate it up, and a crimson pigment splattered around it like a brutal corpse party had commenced moments ago.
Lights stood, angling towards the cold, empty fire pit in the middle of the room, and a chair further beyond it. They seemed to be ready to interrogate whoever sat there next.
Leon took a step inside and his foot landed right into a few layers of blood.
Ichor pounded in his ears. His heart thumped within his chest. His hands shook. His feet tingled. He grabbed his chest tightly. Slowly he fell on his knees, collapsing upon the blood.
His vision disfigured, as if he were looking through a kaleidoscope lens. He had to get away. He could not stay near that place any longer.
He swam to the center of the room and it had large dust and ash deposits mixed with dried gore. The room was a large square, now that he examined it a bit.
He continued around, his legs trembling, barely able to keep him balanced. He reached the door and clutched the knob, both hands wrapped so tightly around it that his nails dug into his palms.
Breathing was hard.
Leon buried his face in the door and cried quietly, his chest growing tight as bile rose in his throat.
At last he felt himself calm down a little bit. He heaved a sigh and opened the door. He can do it, he can walk out of here.
Just when he thought he might have a stroke, his eyes adjusted to the dark at last, tensing himself to run . . . and the door opened into a small passage, a sterile concrete corridor.
He fell against the wall and the door shut itself behind him. Shakily, the man grabbed onto the wall and used it as leverage. There was a dilemma here.
Whichever way he looked ran off into darkness.
And there were no signs telling him which way to go.
Left or right?
'Okay Kennedy, time to remember this.'
The few seconds that he hesitated could cost him his life - he still had only a small chance, but any chance at all was heartwarming.
He'd heard once that when faced with a choice, most people instinctively turned in the direction of their dominant hand.
With the crappy luck he'd had throughout his long, long time in this place, he decided to go the other way. Left.
Leon ran, his wet boots hammering the floor, wondering if he should even bother.
Not far past the broken gate, Leon saw a walkway that crossed over the familiar train.
The stairs hidden by deep shadow . . . and his ears caught the irregular pounding of something getting closer to him behind.
Each running step a violent slap of flesh against cement.
The terror drove him on, his feet hardly touching the ground, not caring if he ran head-on into a wall in the deepening dark.
Maybe that would be best, it was tremendously powerful, it was too much of a sight to behold and he did not want to see anymore. He heard the ripping scrape of 'it's' clawed fingers plowing up concrete.
He had maybe a second before that hand tore into him . . . and he dodged right again, throwing himself into a well of darkness just past the stairs.
Something flew past, a mammoth maybe. It was a hulking blur, and he actually felt the wind from the thing moving hand him a whisper against his leg as he hit the cold floor.
Sharp pain shot up his arm once more, his elbow cracking hard against the cement.
However he ignored it, jumping to his feet, looking for any place to hide.
He'd gone the wrong way.
Twists and turns in the cold and empty place had led him to a storage room - a dead end.
Leon went ahead and hid behind a crate. He wanted to turn the light off just for a moment to be sure that thing was not following him.
"You cannot escape me! I will find you!" He heard the dreaded voice once again.
He turned with the flashlight raised, and saw the priest with his face completely covered with something.
It resembles a dirty mask, slowly he raised the bloody cleaver coming toward him.
"It's almost time." The priest whispered in a cold menacing tone. "For the one to revive."
"What one!?" Leon heaved the words. But the man stayed silent and brought down the knife . . . targeting his head.
And with what felt like the very last of his strength, he forced himself into a quick dodge and a stumbling run.
He was too exhausted to feel disappointed, and worry about where was he going gripped his mind. Still, he wished that things were different; it took all of his energy just to keep moving.
He'd make it; either way, he didn't think he'd be surprised.
By the end of the walk way, he was faced with a heavy double door made of stone. The grinding sound of rock-on-rock filled his ears as he but his full strength to open the door.
He stopped once the doors were open, staring in disbelief. It looked like an alter of some kind.
There was a large pedestal in the middle of the room, and five large turntables wound with rope on each side of the circular altar.
Leon took a numb step around, gazing at the dribbling, meaty mess still stained on the altar.
CRREEAAAK!
One of the turntables began twisting, and he closed his eyes.
He could almost hear it, the howl of pain before her limp limbs popped from their sockets and men tugging the ropes tighter and tighter on her arms and legs, bringing the blood.
"Stop . . . Stop it, you monsters." Leon opened his eyes, his breath quickening. "Mother."
His eyes were locked to the pedestal.
"No, no . . . This can't- this isn't . . ." He saw black hair draped over to the ground, the outline of the limbs impossibly long. "It's just my mind- . . . has to be-"
He stepped closer, wanting to make it all go away.
Grasping the cloth, the texture was damp and spongy. He held back the urge to vomit and squeezed his eyes closed, then pulled the cloth.
And . . .
Nothing was there. Only the dried blood stains, among them several pieces of rotted flesh.
Leon choked up, nearly vomiting as he put his hands on his knees, stepping away.
He blinked his eyes and, and attempted to calm himself. But the thought was stopped short as a hand appeared from the other side of the table.
Leon jolted back as the limb pulled up, the stretched ligaments pulling a head of black hair into view. His throat tightened, his respiration growing frantic.
He rounded the turntable and darted out of the door.
. . .
The nurse came over and put a warm cloth over Leon's feverish forehead. Another burst of quickened inhale could be heard through his frowning face.
Those eyes closed tightly.
"Mister Kennedy . . . hang on, we are going to fix you." She whispered sincerely. Some part of her thought maybe he could hear her.
Chris was sitting on the left side of the bed . . . just waiting.
Claire had promised him she'd return fast, saying something along the lines of doing some research to help his sickness.
As much as he wanted to go with her just to make sure she was fine, this was something for her to do, and he respected that.
Within minutes, he heard Claire's running footsteps and the door opened roughly.
She stood with her hand supporting her weight over the wall. Her other hand was filled with a stack of papers. "Chris, you won't believe this!"
After a moment of standing to relax her tired bones, she rushed over and took a seat next to him.
Opened a red file in her hand, she handed him the very first paper.
It was titled, *Coma/Lies: Possible Outbreak.*
Strange comatose cases seem to be spreading over a small town near the coast.
14 people are recorded to have the same symptoms, with no real way to cure it . . .
Another paper was thrown into his hands. *5 victims of a mysteries coma.*
"Do you see this?" Claire said."This isn't something out of nowhere happening here. There is, like, nineteen victims years ago of an unknown illness.
The only recorded survivor said they were pulled into a place, where she met strange people, but that caused her have a serious case of PTSD."
Chris stared at her for a moment, then said, "Well, where'd you get these?"
"Oh, you know, called in a few favors here and there." She responded.
Chris grunted as he sat up in the chair. "All right, okay. Lets get to it, maybe you can share some with the doctors." He said, almost enthusiastic as she was.
"Already on it, sent copies to the head doctor's and spoke with them about a solution." She said. Chris raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, i got kinda carried away." She said, and as she dug her way through the stack she'd brought in, she felt his hands on her shoulders.
"Claire, you've been up all night, just relax, he's the one we should be worried about."
She grunted at him, "I am, okay? And i haven't just been sitting around doing nothing."
"What are you saying?" He eyed her coldly.
"Nothing . . ." She said, continuing to go through the files.
Chris rubbed his forehead and laid back upon the chair. "So what do we have so far?"
Claire froze, her face falling to the ground.
"Nothing useful. Other then one thing. I've already spoken with everyone, they're all set to get me prepped to try it out."
He glared at her, "Uh, you mind telling me then, since you got everyone else on board?"
"I 'follow' him. A medically induced coma."
Redfield eyes glistened worryingly. "Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, you are not going to do that."
Claire's expression changed to a sorrowful smile.
"Chris, I'm already infected. The first night I left Leon, I've been having strange dreams. They feel too real. And they're all about a place where I can find him.
I can go there willingly. Don't ask me how, but I know it, I can. And I might be able to help get him out."
"What the hell are you talking about!?" He asked, becoming distressed.
"The manor lures the depressed and weakened into itself." She whispered softly, motioning him with a file. He looked through it and came up confused.
She held both his cheeks, "I have to go there. I have to help him."
Claire leaned in and gently kissed his forehead.
"I love you. Don't ever think i don't." She was about to stand up when his hand stopped her.
Claire looked back at her brother.
"Claire I won't let you do this. What if you never wake up?" Tears weren't far away. "This is insane, please! What the hell kind of logic is this!? Maybe there's something else we could do to help him."
She sighed and held his hand tightly. "I can't stand here and do nothing."
"Why not?" He shouted standing up to face her.
Claire bit her lips and stayed silent for a moment.
"Because I love him." she admitted. "I won't watch him die slowly. Not another one. Not again. I'm sure you would do the same if it was Jill in a coma."
Chris ripped his hand away, shocked. His eyes watered up.
But, judging by the expression etched in his face, Chris somewhat came to understand. Without many words, he accepted it, and laid back.
The moment was cut short when the lights inside the room started to flicker. The siblings watched, surprised by the sudden surge of power.
Claire saw the machines linked to Leon flicker on and off.
"What's happening?" She said, terrified. Chris moved forward to Leon's bed and kept his eyes on him.
"Nurse? . . . Nurse!? Someone!?" He shouted.
Two women rushed through the room, but they stopped midway when they noticed what was happening.
"Why . . . ?" One of them whispered.
"Fix the power, do you want your patients to die?" Chris was half-emotional, half-panicked.
The two exchanged looks, "Sir, the power is fine. We don't have any electrical issues." Once the nurses stopped talking, the light returned to normal once more.
Claire closed her eyes, trying to find a moment to breath and calm her racing heart.
However the moment was cut short when the sound of a blood chilling scream filled the whole building.
Everyone in the room rushed out to see, though the woman gathered behind Chris for protection. What's going on?
People were running, and by the end of the hall stood something mysterious.
The strange humanoid stomped forward and Claire stole a glance at the figure.
The sight could turn anyone into a stone.
It's snake-like, emerald green eyes darted around emotionless. It's rotting lips were already half-weathered to the bone. It's neck turned, and then a long, befuddled moan followed.
It made Chris' blood go cold. Judging by the creatures clothes, it walked out of the morgue.
"No way . . . " Claire whispered.
"You gotta be kiddin me." Chris stated flatly.
Within seconds, more sounds followed behind the ghoul. And a group of nine corpses came into view. They twisted around, like they had no real idea of how to operate their bodies anymore.
Creeping forward in strange dances, the manifestations made their way towards humans.
The tall one's cracking limbs and malformed skin made it look like a giant, frost-bitten boar.
Chris knew all too well what it had to be.
He moved in front of any civilians and shouted, "Everyone, get out of here now!"
The tall one screeched something foul and terrible, harkening back to the days of medieval beast and folklore with it's shrill howl.
Stampeding through the halls, Chris had put himself between the fleeing patients and staff and rotting zombies coming their way. Oddly enough, he had just enough life experience to get through.
Chris darted backward forcing all those behind him through any available room as quickly as possible.
And like that, the monster's began their chase, preying upon the flustered staff.
One idiotic doctor walked out casually and looked over lackadaisically to the monsters, unable to change his fate now when a giant, malformed hand grabbed his head and juiced like a small fruit.
His carcass laid on the ground before Chris, who'd admittedly seen worse, but that was a damn close second.
He had to improvise, and so Chris shoved an IV unit at the beast, with the small metal crashing against the beast and tripping it onto it's feet, and the slower corpses were easy to outrun.
He fled the group towards the reception area and successfully managed to get to the door, only for the doctors to discover the town's graves empty and its restless souls plying midnlessly at the glass.
Oh shit.
Chris grabbed the pistol he had to leave in a box at reception and took aim, firing into the heads of three smaller fair, and they stopped moving . . . only briefly.
They weren't dying, they kept getting back up, some without a head. What the hell kind of infection was this!?
THe doctors began herding the patients upstairs and began grabbing any useful items they could as more and more corpses poured from the basement morgue.
At the least there was more than one way upstairs, and they all were coming for this entrance.
Chris screamed behind him, "Get everyone upstairs, board it off now! Do not let anything pass, board up every single, possible exit!"
He stayed behind to deal with the encroaching pests, hellbent on allowing the others to survive.
That was the last Claire saw of him as she was shoved upstairs by the human horde.
The last image she could see was of him alone, his back faced to her, left with an uncertain fate.
All the orderlies did what was asked and began making barricades, shutting the doors as quickly as they could and shoving furniture up against them.
Just before they could shut the final door, a hand grabbed the edge and forcibly held it open.
Everyone froze in horror, as . . .
Chris Redfield darted through and shut the door closed, grabbing a desk throwing it up against the wall.
He spoke to the doctor who'd been treating Leon, "You have any nails?"
The man struggled to think but then nodded.
"Good, hammer them in, I'll be back." He said as he ran toward the other end of the upstairs, past a semi-reassured Claire.
He dashed through and glided downstairs. Thankfully, none of the monster's had made their way back here, so he silently snuck to Leon's room, intent to retrieve the comatose man.
Chris heard a creak, and his heart nearly punched out of his chest. Thankfully, it was just a fallen over tank of gas, and so he kept sneaking into Leon's room.
He had a minute to get him back upstairs without alerting any of the necrotics. So he grabbed the man and unplugged him as gingerly as possible.
Next came lifting him out of bed, he flung the man over his shoulder. He wouldn't die today.
In the rush of things, it seemed Chris could be a real action hero. Nonetheless, the man barreled down the hallway, his heart beating irregular.
Rushing down the hallway, he had to be especially quick, maybe about a minute or so, or Leon might die upon his shoulder.
And then heard a roar that made his blood freeze over.
He scrambled and plodded along, as a rage-filled entity warbled behind, drawing ever so close with it's mangled fists and viridescent eyes.
There in the dark, the monster chasing him, the stairs an arduous task, and his arms and legs already tired.
Upstairs . . .
Claire entered the room she was told to be in.
This one was a little smaller and closer to where Leon and two patients would be placed. The doctor stood with his hands behind his back.
"Are you sure about this miss Redfield? I won't be responsible if something happens to you."
Claire felt her heart bounce within her chest, like it wants to push it's way out.
But she already made up her mind.
She laid on the bed, and watched the ceiling for no reason, just a little habit to keep her calm.
They all had yet to know if Chris would make it back.
"Yes, I have to. You won't be charged with anything, I promise. Please, be safe and stay here with me, until Chris figures out what's going on."
The doctor nodded and took her right arm close to the side, prepared the needle. "Best of luck. I want you to count from five."
Claire swallowed a lump in her throat as she felt the needle push inside her arm.
A fluid escaped into her veins, biting through them like an animal.
It was cold, inducing a flaring pain going up her shoulder.
"Five . . . four . . ." Fog started to gather over the ceiling.
"Three . . . " She felt her arms melt like noodles, growing wispier until they vanished.
"Two . . . O-One."
Once her lips spoke the number she started falling into darkness.
. . .
Chills flushed over her body. A frigid surge like it was the middle of winter.
Once Claire opened her eyes, she was once again in front of the entrance. The mansion . . .
"I'm here. I'm coming . . ." she whispered and jogged through the gateway.
Once her foot touched the flooring inside, she heard a loud crash behind her . . . it startled her to the point where she screamed.
Swiftly turning around, she stared at it.
The entrance door has been sealed shut with something covering the handles. "Wh-what the . . . What in the world-?" she remarked.
Claire realized the place barely had any light, with only a few candles over a wooded stairs.
But something on the ground was shining.
"A flashlight?" Her voice was filled with hope as she knelt down and took it.
Once she focused the light up ahead, there stood a girl watching her blankly.
Claire tensed slightly, many questions going through her mind.
Where did she come from? Was she there the whole time, but she hadn't noticed until just now?
The girl outstretched her arm and pointed to the left door in the small entrance way. "The one you seek is over here . . ."
She said this monotone, and started stuttering toward the door.
"Wait who are you?" Claire asked and followed her, a small child with long raven hair..
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed reading this. Please leave a review, what do you think so far?
Special thanks to my beta reader Angel wolf for his help.
