BOOK ONE: IN PLURIBUS UNUM

Episode 10: The Fear That Fuels Us

Raccoon City, 1998

The heavy sound of her breathing was loud in the quiet darkness. Hunkered, hunched, and hiding Jill couldn't do anything but tremble in fear. The gun in her hand had four bullets. Four. The number of times she'd felt herself taste fear.

Four - the number of times she'd lain in a man's arms and not been empty.

Four - the seconds that ticked off before a kiss became really good.

Four - the amount of tears she'd cried since she'd walked into a nightmare.

One slid down her face now as her breath hitched. She could hear it out there walking around the alley. It was hunting her. It was her mortal enemy. It was her bane. It was her punishment for staying when she should have run with Chris.

It was her Nemesis.

Her chest hurt from where it had stabbed her. She was losing blood and losing her mind and felt sick. Jill sagged against the stone and listened to it pace outside and wait for her. All she had to do was go around the corner and it would all be over.

She could rest.

Finally.

Jill closed her eyes and prayed for any kind of peace.

She raised that gun with those four bullets and turned that corner.

It came for her with a stumbling run and a roar. It trumpeted its battle cry into the boiling dark. The smoke swirled around it as the fire parted as if to allow it passage. It roared for her blood.

She answered the thunder of that with her own. No more fear. She was tired of hiding.

She was tired of running.

It was time to fight or die.

There was no hope left.

Outside Amparo, 2002

She came awake fighting. The hands trying to soothe her slapped over her mouth. The other one pinned her arms above her head as a voice rumbled, "Easy. Easy. It's a dream."

Was it?

Her skin prickled with fear. Her breathing was choppy. Her eyes flared and rolled like an animal scenting its predator. Above her, Leon held her terrified gaze as he held her down and whispered, gruffly, "Easy. I'm not gonna hurt you. Breathe. You'll wake Manuela."

She knew that.

She wasn't sure what it was that made her aware that he'd keep his word. He wasn't a good guy. He was The Executioner. His body count was legendary. He killed like the Nemesis in her dream - without mercy, without regret, without stopping. Why wasn't she afraid of him?

Her chest throbbed from the old wound long gone.

Their gazes held in the humid darkness. Her skin was slick with sweat from the nightmare and the heat. He felt surprisingly cool where he was pressed against her. Jill finally nodded and his hand slid off her mouth.

But he kept holding her down at the wrists.

She whispered, hoarsely, "I'm alright. I'm sorry. You could hear me outside?"

He said nothing for a long moment. She wasn't even sure he was going to answer until he just..did. "No."

Jill scanned his steely countenance with her eyes, "...alright. Did you need to take a shower or something?"

Again, no answer. The hand on her mouth had slid down her throat. It hesitated and then pressed against her chest, open palmed, above her still heaving bosom. The leftover dregs of fear curled against something just as painful. Her breath caught instead of labored. He enjoyed feeling her heartbeat. It was as if he was drawn to it; a moth to a flame.

She absolutely could not look away as he felt her racing heart and murmured, softly, "I can't remember what it feels like."

So quiet. They were so quiet. It was hard to remember they weren't alone in the dark. Jill rasped, "What?"

He looked up from where his hand lay and back to her face as he told her, "Fear."

Jill trembled a little as her skin prickled. The intensity on him was drowning. His face was so young, so utterly beautiful in a way, and yet the eyes. The eyes were as old as the hills and filled with so much that she couldn't understand. What she'd seen and done...it was nothing to what he'd survived. The little intel they had on him told the story of a man without past, a man without a conscience, and a warrior made from heavy conditioning and programming.

If he'd been the Nemesis, he wouldn't have been any more of a machine.

She knew that.

You didn't play games with The Executioner. You didn't try to woo him or win him or want him. You didn't run from him or try to fight him. Four bullets wouldn't save you. Four seconds wouldn't spare you. Four bodyguards wouldn't help you.

It was best, if he came for you, to just...round that corner and make your stand.

No hope left.

Young. He was. A handful of years younger than her in fact. But he wasn't. The flesh and the soul were two entirely different ages.

So she murmured, "What can you feel?"

And he answered her again, surprising her, "I don't know anymore."

Into the swirl of surreal quiet, Jill informed him, "You're still holding me down."

Without missing a beat, Leon returned, "I know. Do you want me to let you go?"

A loaded question. Time seemed to still. It seemed to get pregnant with all the things between them. Every time she looked at him, she remembered the worst 100 days of her life. Every time she thought of him, she remembered fighting him in that pit and feeling the incredible rush of blood in her body like nothing she'd ever known.

What would it be like to feel that again?

Dangerous?

He'd let her go if she said yes. He wasn't there to kill her. Not yet. Not now. Maybe soon. But not yet.

Jill finally, finally, finally shook her head no.

His hand stayed over her chest to feel that rapid thunder of her heart. They just kept looking at each other in a way that was both somehow desperate and raw and empty. Mirrors of the other and a life that seemed long ago. Two babies born in blood in a city without hope. Two soldiers who'd sought the skills to make sure the world never again became a necropolis. Two warriors who'd survived the torture and truth that had made them unequaled.

Part of him craved what he'd lost with Claire to be who he was. Part of him hungered for that softness, that hope, that light and love and long days in quiet sunlit summers filled with each other. The memory of a boy who'd never had a chance to find happiness after the battle of his life. He'd protected Claire. He'd loved her. He'd left her a different man than he'd come home. The hazy recollection of that boy who'd escaped a burning city was butterfly wings in his head - flapping and sending ripples over placid skies. He could remember loving her. He just couldn't feel it anymore.

But this he could feel.

He could feel the heartbeat of the woman beneath him. He'd come in to check on them. He'd never intended to stay. He'd somehow found himself sitting beside her sleeping form on the bed. She'd slept on her side, curled away from the world toward the wall like even here, now, she'd reject it. He understood that. How many nights had he fallen asleep sitting against the wall with a gun in his lap facing the door?

Sometimes there was no rest for the weary.

He'd checked on Manuela to find her peacefully resting on her belly like a child, snoring.

He'd turned to leave.

And sat down beside Jill instead. He'd told her he and Jack weren't different. Even now, Jack was awake and alert and watching for danger. Leon hadn't slept at all. He was aware that Jack was likely as much a threat to the women as any other predator. They'd sat against opposite trees and stared at each other in the dappled darkness. At one point, Jack had broken the silence to say, "You don't really think you could stop me if I wanted to go in there, right?"

And Leon had answered, "You ready to find out?"

So Jack had closed his eyes on a snort and gone to sleep.

They weren't all that different.

He'd sat at Jill's back on the bed and he didn't touch her. But he wanted to. He wanted to slide his hand down her back and over the curve of her ass and turn her into him. He could be gentle if he tried.

He was a good lover. He made sure a woman was satisfied when the needs of his body turned him toward finding himself between the thighs of one. He wasn't an animal like Jack about taking them to prove he was stronger.

Unless they asked him to.

He'd had women grunt and curse and talk likes whores and beg for it. He'd given it to them as they'd wanted. Filthy. Ugly. Fucking in dirty bar bathrooms and pinning them to the bed like a hole waiting for him to fill it. There were those who liked to be subjugated and used. He knew that.

Did she?

He wanted to fight her.

It was an odd feeling. Because their short tussle played through his head like a movie. He'd been alive. Alert. Aroused.

He wanted to fight Jill Valentine to feel that again.

So his heart would race just as hers was.

Quietly, he wondered, "Are you still scared? I won't hurt you."

Jill studied his face in the shadows. He was so calm. He was so curious. Like she was a puzzle whose pieces just didn't fit for him. Was it part of the genius thing? Or the brainwashing they'd likely done to him?

So, she told him, "No. Why?"

"Your heart. It's still pounding."

Oh.

Her mouth curved up at one side and she breathed, "Because you're touching me."

Leon's head tilted, just a little, as he asked, "How do I feel it too?"

Jill thought there was nothing in the world she wanted more than to make his heart do the same. So she instructed, "Let go of my hands."

He did. Instantly. No hesitation.

And she added, "Lean down."

He did that too.

Her belly jerked and quivered. She liked how simple he made it. Her fingers lifted to his face. She touched his mouth and his nose, she skimmed her thumbs over his eyebrows. Gentle.

So, it's soft, he thought. She liked a man to be soft with her. He was happy to ob-

Her hand gripped a hunk of his hair. She harshly pulled him toward her. And he reacted. As simple as the move was the reaction. His left palm curled around her throat to pin her to the bed. His other reached for the knife on his vest and she grabbed that wrist to roll it up his back, hissing, "Don't. You can't feel it if you fight me."

Was she right?

Her back arched. She kept his arm behind his back and the other in his hair. It hurt enough that his scalp throbbed. But pain wouldn't do the job. He could handle pain. The hand at her throbbed squeezed, so gently, carefully. He could feel her carotid thumping against his thumb.

He told her, "I could still kill you like this."

Jill nodded. She put their mouths a whisper away as she answered, "But you don't want to. Dead, I can't help you feel anything. You don't want to hurt me..."

She eased her throat harder into his hand. His fingers closed enough to flare her eyes above it. He could smell her. The smallest squeeze set her already racing pulse to hammering so hard it was almost audible.

Leon breathed, "Are you afraid now?"

Jill's mouth curved against his in a smile, "Not even close."

He started to squeeze harder and she humped toward him. It sent him sideways and she rolled him quietly beneath her on the bed. She echoed what he'd done to her and pinned his arms above his head. He let her, fascinated as if she were a snake charmer and he her eager serpent.

Jill leaned down until their mouths were brushing again and asked, "Where's your knife?"

Surprised, Leon glanced down to find his vest empty. Before he could answer, Jill asked again, "Where is it...Executioner?"

He started to break her hold of his wrists above his head and Jill rolled left and off him to the floor. Soundless. Neither made a peep of noise. He sprang to his feet and she put the point of his knife against his own groin from where she was crouched on the ground.

The moonlight winked off the blade as she looked up the line of his body at him. One tiny knick and she'd open his femoral artery. He'd bleed out in moments. She wasn't after stabbing his dick. She was after bleeding him dry.

Even trying to grab her could spell the end of him.

His heart thunked painfully.

Jill tilted her head, watching his face, "How's that? You feel it now?"

Leon answered, hoarsely, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"See? Even the Executioner is afraid to die."

Jill flipped the knife and offered it to him at the hilt. Leon took it, whipping his eyes all over her face as she added, softly, "I'm not afraid of you. You might be bigger than me, but we served the same master once. I can handle my own."

His hand snaked out. It grabbed the side of her face and his fingers curled around the back of her skull to tug her up to him. He leaned down over her and demanded, "If that's true, why is your heart still pounding?"

Jill leaned up, just a little, and their lips pressed together - once - almost chastely. His chest seized tightly and answered the thump of his own pulse. As he let go of her, she confessed, "That's why. You know it. I know it. Sometimes the only thing that keeps us alive is chasing what could kill us."

He started to - what? Reach down and what? Take her? Her breath seized and her mouth went dry in anticipation. And a small voice murmured, "Hijo de la chingada."

Manuela was awake. Leon turned to find the girl watching them. She blinked and wondered, "What does this face mean?"

Jill tilted her head, "Whose face?"

She pointed at Leon and frowned, "He is angry that he loves you, yes?"

Leon shook his head and turned toward the shower area. "I'm going to rinse the grime off before we get moving."

He pulled the shower curtain. Manuela watched his shape beyond the heavy vinyl. All shadows, but you could tell he was stripping. She tucked her knees up as the water fired on. The big t-shirt she wore was white and thrown over the dress she'd worn the day before. Jill had done her best to rinse the blood from the dress because the shorts they'd found would never have fit on her thin frame.

After it was clear he was showering, she looked at Jill, "He is not so simple, I think."

Jill nodded and scooped her hair up to ponytail it as she reached for her holster and boots. "Not even a little. Manuela, that? That wasn't love."

Manuela gave her a confused face. "No? He looks at you with such...what is word?" She struggled and finally said, "Solo está sediento de cariño."

Jill paused. She considered that. What had she said? He just hungers for affection. Was the Executioner...lonely?

Manuela smiled sweetly at her. "You should get in shower. He is very naked in there. He would like your kisses, I know."

Jill smiled, unable to stop herself. She was charmed by this girl they'd found singing to monsters. She shook her head and answered, "I don't think he'd like them nearly as much as you think. And we have a job to do. Do you need to rest more?"

Manuela shook her head as she rose. "No. I am rested. You look warm. In the face. Much pink on the cheeks."

Well, Jill thought, that happened when you got turned on playing dangerous games with an overly sexy, potentially dangerous, possible ally. Jill gave Manuela a narrow-eyed expression laced with amusement, "You're too smart for your own good, I think. You might not speak the language, but you understand things just fine."

Manuela giggled a little.

It was nice to feel just a little normal. Jill shook her head in amusement as the door was tossed open and Krauser emerged into the small cabin, "You ladies done with your sleepover? We're burning moonlight while you two share stories about your periods and paint your nails."

He was a pig. There was no other word for it. Jill rolled her eyes, "You sure you're not a girl, Jack? Only one of us seems to be having PMS at the moment."

He ignored her completely and instructed, "Kennedy! When you're done shaving your legs in there, how about we get a move on? I ain't gettin any younger and you ain't gettin any prettier."

He paused and glanced over at Manuela to add, "Although I guess you think he's pretty enough, huh sweetheart? You wanna climb in the shower and help him ease his tension?"

Manuela looked away and shook her head. Jill told him, "If you think he's so pretty, get in that shower with him yourself, Jack."

"Sorry, dollface, but I like my meat a little more tender." Jack leaned over to sniff at Jill's shoulder. Manuela made a face like he was gross or offensive. Jill just arched her brows at him as he finished, "You wanna take a shower with me? You look like a dirty girl."

Ugh.

The water cut off behind the curtain. Jill felt the corners of her mouth turn up in a snide, tight smile. "I like my meat prettier, Jack. Maybe you should have traded some of those steroids for a hair transplant."

"Why? So I can be pretty like your girlfriend in there?"

Jill laughed, dryly, "He's not just pretty. He has a huge dick too."

Krauser scoffed and leaned away from her. "So do I."

"Hard to believe when we both know the juice turns your junk to raisins. Next time I want to fuck a thumb though, I'll give you a call."

"I'm about to juice on your raisins, sweetheart, and show you what my junk can do."

"Always the fucking gentleman, Jack."

Manuela cringed. Jill just laughed. And the curtain made a metallic whoosh as Leon stepped out from behind it. With his hair peeled back from his face, he managed to look impossibly young and fresh. Manuela looked at Jill to grin and bobble her brows.

Leon strapped on his shoulder holster with one brow arched as his gaze jumped between them. "What?"

Jill shook her head. Krauser laughed and rolled his eyes, "Just dealing with our guide here hitting on me. What can I say? I have that affect on women."

Leon kept his expression bored and locked his vest in place on his chest. "Oh, I have no doubt that's true, Krauser. Like a kick in the crotch that never ends."

Krauser opened the door to the cabin and returned, "Oh, if I'm near their crotch, they're begging that it never ends."

Jill looked like she'd barf. Manuela, thank god, couldn't follow the slang enough to get it. Leon gestured with his head at Jill and she helped Manuela up from the bed. After a moment, Leon reached into his pack to remove a black kevlar vest. Surprised, Jill watched him as he moved to strap Manuela into it.

He spoke in fluent and rapid Spanish. He was telling her it was a spare, it was for her protection, and that she should never, ever take it off. He showed her the small knife strapped to the front and how to pull it. He gave a brief instruction on how to wield it.

Manuela nodded quickly and enthusiastically. To show her appreciation, Manuela carried Jill's small canteen and binoculars around her neck. She stepped out into the coming dawn as Leon slung his own pack onto his back and paused.

Jill was watching him quietly.

Curious, he arched a brow.

She shook her head and started out the door.

He was a mystery to her. There were so many layers. A hard, a cold man, a man missing pieces - that gave away his spare body armor to skinny frightened girls. Whatever else he was, he wasn't just a killer.

Water Access Point - Outside Amparo- 2002

Inside the water channel, the tunnel was cool and dark. Small yellow patches of lighting graced their walk up narrow stone stairs. As they moved, Manuela stayed in the middle between him, Krauser, and Jill.

Leon took the rear while Krauser took point.

Into the quiet, Krauser said, "You're probably used to taken it in the rear, Kennedy."

Manuela looked confused again. Jill rolled her eyes. Leon returned, "Focus on the mission, Jack, and stop thinking about my ass."

To Manuela, Jill instructed, "The important part here is to remember to do everything we say, ok? Stick close. Don't get brave."

Manuela nodded energetically. She told them about the water channel in Spanish. Jack stopped breaking balls to listen. As she finished, he told her, "Whatever you do, don't get stupid. We can't protect you if you run off scared."

Manuela nodded again, "I won't run. I promise."

They stepped into a wide circular stone room with water gathered on the cold floor. It poured down from the floor above. Aloud, Krauser mused, "This must be the discharge channel."

Jill started to say something and there was a rustle of sound from the wall at the point where light had started to leak through the tunnel near the ceiling. They all saw it coming - squat with long arms that scraped as it moved, clinging to the wall like the bug it tried to be. It was painfully skinny, looking more like bone and blade than flesh and blood. It was reddish and yellow, chittering as it scurried and leaped almost gracefully toward them.

Krauser called, "What the fuck is that!?"

And it landed in the water near them.

They opened fire almost simultaneously as Krauser added, "Somebody took their diet a little too far. Nothing worse than a skinny bitch with attitude."

It was thrown back through the water in a spray of blood as they blasted it off its feet. It squealed like a pig and its razor sharp legs whipped wildly before it went still. Krauser kicked it with his boot and remarked, "This your sister, Kennedy? You guys have the same body type."

Leon rolled his eyes and gestured toward the archway beside the water. They started to head through when there was moan from behind them. The tunnel was full now. It was full of zombies.

They moaned. They shambled. They were bleeding and rotting and wearing old construction hats and pieces of heavy equipment gear. They were slow, until they scented prey, and then?

They started running like the ones in the village.

Jack waved them through the archway. Leon commanded, "Go! No! Jill!"

She somehow knew what he wanted. She grabbed Manuela's arm to force her into a run with her. They turned down the tunnel and started running full tilt. They emerged out of a narrow hallway into another rushing waterway.

Manuela said, "Up those stairs! To the ladder!"

Jack went first, Jill and Manuela hurried next, and Leon was shortly behind them but the ceiling started shrieking. No. Not the ceiling - the hoard of monsters gathered on it like a hive of bees.

They ran. Jill sprayed the ceiling with her machine gun.

But it didn't matter.

The hoard dropped down en masse.

And there was nothing left to do but spray and pray.