The rhythmic tapping of the rain outside filtered through the quiet studio apartment when Jill Valentine awoke into the early morning hours of September 25th, 1998. The light from the muted TV was casting colorful reflections on the wall where her phone sat with a blinking light from the awaiting answering machine.
The muscles in her delicate neck were pulling painfully when she sat up and blinked over toward the window that allowed the neon red light from the restaurant across the way to bathe her windowsill in red. The light outside flashed once, twice, and streamed steadily for a few seconds before it repeated.
The corkboard Jill had set up in the last few weeks while she conducted her own investigation was perched on her northern wall; picture frames that normally lived on the wall were set in messy stacks around the floor space beneath it. The arranged newspaper clippings, pictures, and various documents were fluttering in the breeze from the oscillating fan she had left on. Tired and bloodshot blue eyes were roving over at the notes she had scribbled all around the corkboard in her hours of lockdown. The previous S.T.A.R.S. B & E specialist let out a low breath as her hand gripped the rumpled blankets beneath her on the bed.
Ever since her suspension was issued by Chief Irons in mid-August, she had been catching sight of the unmarked cars that would park quietly off where her apartment sat on Front Street. The cars had changed in make and model to blow off suspicion, but Jill noted their rotation and saw it for what it was—Umbrella's last attempt to silence one of two S.T.A.R.S. members that were left in the city. Chris and the others had departed in late August.
She and Brad Vickers had taken to meeting at one of the local restaurants two blocks from her house. The phone lines could no longer be trusted as Jill's suspicion mounted over the stakeout at her home. Luckily for her, whomever sat watching from her street didn't seem to be very efficient at tracking her on foot. Jill had grown up in these streets and it didn't take much to give them the slip.
They also never tried to engage her in her own home. If Umbrella's intelligence department was anything to speak of, their sources would alert them to her previous Delta Force training prior to her involvement in the S.T.A.R.S and they'd think twice about that tactic.
The thought had Jill's top lip lifting in a sneer when she looked away from the corkboard.
Her brunette, chin-length hair tickled the hollow of her throat as she swiveled her head over toward the nightstand and sighed at the pill bottle that had spilled over from her previous administration. Sleep had been hard to come by after the mansion incident in July and she hadn't been able to sleep without a gun under her pillow since then. The pills did seem to help, but Jill only ever found herself sleeping in 3-to-4-hour periods. For the rest of her waking hours, her mind would race as she dug deeper into the specific areas that she could investigate without the clearance of an officer any longer.
Jill's eyes circled the report she had drafted on Umbrella's movements, the water facility report she had obtained through one of Vickers' contacts, and a picture of a reporter by the name of Ben Bertolucci who had recently been hauled in for questioning after allegedly harassing the Umbrella researcher, Annette Birkin.
Jill felt her tired eyes involuntarily shudder laterally and she blinked once to refocus her vision. Decent sleep was something that she could go without for a while, but she didn't know what to do about the anger. For now, that response was locked away behind the silo of her expression. As everything always was.
Clenching her already aching jaw, Jill pushed herself from the bed and shoved her thoughts away. "Be where you are." She whispered softly as she thought to the drill instructor who would berate her in the army when she lacked proper focus during her training.
Jill ran a hand through her messy hair while she began to reach for the blinking telephone that had rung in the night without disrupting her drug-induced sleep.
The familiar pops of gun fire sounded out in contrast to the staccato of the rain pounding against the windows and Jill paused with her brows furrowing. With quick strides, she was pushing up the window of her apartment and looking out into the chaos of the street beyond.
When she had fallen asleep, Vickers had updated her that the southern side of the city had reports of violence coming through from around South Campbell Street. The local news channel had broadcasted it hours before the Raccoon City Sharks game and took to blaming the high stakes of the sport disrupting the already tense atmosphere of the population.
Chief Irons had refused to cancel the city activities despite every warning to the ongoing investigation and the developing medical situation now passing through the population like ships in the night. Jill had received word from one of her contacts within Arklay Memorial that the hospital was dealing with high call saturation and was running on limited staff due to the illness they were starting to see. Arklay's hospital director had put out a call to the CDC for advisement, consultation, and laboratory assistance to the facility in Georgia on Sunday. No word had been received or communicated out to the staff by Monday night.
Flu season, they had said in the news reports. A variation of influenza that caused high disorientation and aggression. Jill's anger had only just been balanced out by her resilience when she had shut off her TV at the blatant lies Umbrella was continuing to feed to the media.
The T-Virus had made it to Raccoon and people were beginning to enter the stages of fever before death.
The S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team had found numerous documents in the Spencer Mansion. The facility staff and researchers had left various accounts of their symptoms before death, but one note always stood out to Jill—The Keeper's Diary. Over a six-day period, the Keeper had given a layout of his thoughts as they began to change and his experience with the rapid decline to his body.
"May 19, 1998
Fever gone but itchy. Hungry and eat doggy food. Itchy itchy. Scott came. Ugly face so killed him. Tasty."
In August, the S.T.A.R.S. had been replaced by the RPD S.W.A.T thanks to Chief Irons and as Jill suspected, Umbrella. She had seen the S.W.A.T. van on the street as she had passed to look further into the mayor's office and pick up the municipal reports that were available to the public on the city's position for financial standing in 1997. None of the men or women had been in the van when she passed, but in the thinly lit diner near her house, the reports had shown large investments made in Umbrella's name since the early 80's.
As Jill stared down at the street below with all the information circling behind her eyes, she took in the running forms of her citizens, and the line of fire trucks that had blocked off the area where Mission Street intersected. Even through the rain, she could see where Mission turned into Raccoon Street. Fires lit the city's skyline and burned low around some of the apartment buildings that crowded around the beginning of Raccoon's downtown area.
Screams were now carrying across the street as some of the last living people in her city tried to flee what the S.T.A.R.S. had been warning them about all along. The sympathetic nerve system was responsible for the flight, fight, or freeze response in the human body and it had its own affect in the vocal cords when adrenaline was released. The screams were unlike any other time when a person was afraid for their life; the delivery was sharp and higher pitched—It was a primal sound that people made in their last moments. A sound that Jill was becoming all too familiar with.
"Help!"
"No!"
"Please—"
With the window now open, the next crack of gun fire caused Jill to whip her head down toward where a single officer stood over a fallen form of a man by his feet. A trashcan clanged to the ground as a third figure was lunging toward the cop when his shot missed.
"No," Jill uttered softly to herself as her hand gripped the wet windowsill.
Water was flinging off her hair when Jill yanked her body back into the apartment and began to dash around her bed. The jeans and light blue tank top she wore were rumpled from her sleep, but she paid no mind as she tossed a black jacket over her shoulders and snatched her holsters from the back of the chair on her left.
The RPD had taken her county issued firearms, but they couldn't take her personal ones—long live the American dream.
The TV in the corner flickered as the picture finally changed from the blinking image it had been when she had woken up. Jill's eyes drew over to it while she finished with the holster at her thigh. The picture on the screen had captions running over the top and Jill slapped her hand over the control panel while she secured her extra clips in the compartment of her belt.
The emergency broadcast alarm rose over the cacophony of noise flowing in from her open window before the computer-automated voice began to fill her apartment.
ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT
ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT
"This is an emergency broadcast by Arklay County Sheriff's Department. The following instructions are vital to your safety for shelter in place instructions as of September 25th, 3:20 a.m.:
Close and secure all possible entrances to your home. Switch off all lights. Do not look out of the window. Do not respond to any knock on your windows or doors until the "clear" announcement is given. Remain silent at all times. Do not attempt to interact with anyone outside of your home. Do not attempt to investigate any noise which emanates from outside your home. Gather as much food and supplies in your home and shelter in place. This broadcast will repeat in thirty seconds."
Jill's shoulders shuddered when her next breath hissed out from between her teeth as the message repeated once more.
With one last passing glance at the blinking phone, she was hauling out her front door and into the dark hall of her apartment complex. The sound of the emergency broadcast was echoing out from down the hall when she shut the door to her home.
A woman in a pink nightgown was out in the corridor crying while she spoke with an older looking man who was holding his bleeding arm. Jill recognized the couple and paused as she tried to school her pinched features.
"Jill—" Mrs. Prescott, her neighbor, began to say as she approached.
"Get back inside." Jill ordered in the strong tone she had practiced for years. There was no waver in her voice that gave away the horrors she had seen in the last few months or even the one just seconds ago. Her eyes drew to the obvious looking bite mark on the man's arm before she continued, "Lock your doors and don't come back out. Do you have enough food for a few days?"
"I—I think so, but Jill what's going on? The news said there were riots earlier. It's just riots, isn't it? Jim heard something on the street and people were fighting."
"It's not a riot." Jill said before she turned toward the stairway. "It was never riots. Get back inside now, please. Don't open your door for anyone."
"Jill, please don't go out there. Come inside with Jim and I. The TV said we shouldn't go out and I don't want you to—"
Jill felt the tug of the woman's words and for a moment she thought a different emotion may replace the empty one she had been feeling for weeks. Mr. and Mrs. Prescott had been nothing but kind to her since she had moved in. Her own family had moved away to Florida many years ago and often it was Mrs. Prescott that had been the one to constantly knock on her door to invite her for holiday meals or to check in with the 'pretty young woman who lived by herself'.
"I can't," Jill said in a more considerate tone. "You know I can't. I'll be back in a few hours; just promise me you won't come out unless you hear it's me."
The stairwell door slammed on the words her neighbor tried to say next, but Jill wasn't listening anymore as she pulled her handgun from her thigh holster and began to quickly descend to the lower levels of the complex. When she neared the door to the lobby, she paused as she listened for sounds in the next room. Hearing none, she slowly pushed the door open and looked on to the faintly lit space.
The large clock on the wall beside the complex's mailboxes read 3:24 a.m. and Jill watched the ticking second hand for a moment while she thought. With a trained eye, she swept left and right with her gun while she pushed from the stairwell and into the lobby. The continued booms of the firefight were louder now that she was streetside.
Blood was smeared on the glass of the lobby doors and Jill stared at it for a few beats while she saw the patterns repeating from the halls of the Spencer Mansion in her mind's eye. Training trumped fear as Jill found herself falling into the familiar and comfortable pattern of combat. Her boots clattered across the tile when she made her way out onto the street.
Fat drops of rain pattered on the shoulders of her coat while Jill took in the sight of the street. Several patrol cars had been parked in a 45-degree angle of either side of the road to the north side of the street. Various cars had been abandoned between the patrol cars on the left and the line of fire trucks to the right. The shops across from her building were a mixture of lit areas and completely abandoned to darkness.
Movement to the left brought Jill's attention to silhouettes that were moving behind the opened doors of the patrol vehicles. She could barely make out the shouts coming through the chorus of the storm above.
The single officer Jill had surveyed before was on the ground, his pale clenching hands were pushing at the shoulder and face of an enemy Jill knew well as it lunged to take a bite of his face. The many people still fleeing through the streets paid no mind to the struggling man as their blind terror led them forward.
The Beretta was lifting and the shot that followed found its mark in the zombie's forehead. With a burst of infected blood, it slumped forward against the officer's uniformed chest. The Arklay County Sheriff whipped his terrified gaze over his shoulder and up to hers.
Sheriff Daniel Cortini had been a friend prior to Jill's time with the RPD. He was the son of a family friend of her father's. Daniel was close in age and in that moment, Jill seemed to be able to oddly recall his passion for the medical field before he decided to follow in his father's footsteps towards the Sheriff's Department. He was a good friend and a decent law enforcement officer who had been one of the youngest elected Sheriffs that Raccoon had ever positioned in that seat of power.
"Daniel," Jill said in greeting as she reached out a hand to him, her gun pointing now toward the ground in her left hand. There were more figures shuffling toward them from the south. They would need to hurry and assess the situation.
Daniel gripped her forearm and pulled himself up as he kept his eyes on the bloody and infected dead citizen in front of him.
"Jill, it's good to see you—thank you, I tried to stop him but…" His eyes were turning toward hers and Jill felt part of her façade crack as she took in the reality in someone else's eyes. From her quick appraisal, he hadn't been bitten.
Jill released the breath she had been holding and held onto the little hope that was left in her chest; some of the emergency response personnel were still standing.
"How bad is it?" Jill asked as she turned her gaze away from his and watched the figures slowly slipping past the barricades of the firetrucks down the southern side of the street.
"South side of the city has been lost." Jill turned her attention back to the Sheriff and found his eyes roaming her stoic features. "We've lost contact with RPD, RFD, Arklay Memorial, and City Hall. Last I heard, there were a few officers that managed to close up the precinct downtown and barricade within."
Taking account of what they had to work with, Jill was turning toward the figures behind the squad cars on the other side of the street. "Those your men?" She asked.
"Some of them, yeah." Daniel answered as he took a step toward them and paused while waiting for her to follow. "One of them is the last of the fire department that was on this side of the city."
"Reports stated that the south was worse off the last I checked. Are we seeing less of the infected on this side?" Jill continued her line of questioning while they walked.
Daniel had holstered his weapon as they made their way toward the remaining men, but Jill kept hers gripped securely in her hands.
"The infected? Yeah, I guess, that's—yeah, we've got a few reports of what we thought were domestic disturbances on the outskirts of RPD's territory. People who live on the old boundary lines know to still call us if RPD doesn't respond. We started getting calls earlier that 911 wasn't responding. I sent my deputy out toward the Railway Marshaling Yard while I tried to reestablish the lines. I thought it was a power outage from the storm. When Raccoon Electric didn't respond on their emergency line, I sent out my officers to patrol up and down the northern side…What they found—We dispatched shots, but they still kept coming, Jill."
"I know, Daniel." Jill replied softly as they neared the patrol cars. The distant sounds of gunfire throughout the city felt like a tattoo on Jill's fraying nerves. Had everything really spread so fast while she had slept? Had Vickers made it?
The computer expert and hazmat specialist had trained alongside the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha Team, but his cowardice ranked among one of his top offences to Jill after he had abandoned them in Arklay Forest. Vickers had regained his composure and managed to help save them in the end but if Jill had to take the stand in court, she would have freely admitted her reluctance to have him watching her back while the rest of the team left the city.
"Can we radio to the RPD?" Jill was asking as she shook herself from her wandering thoughts.
"Tried," Daniel responded with a huff. "Irons purchased those new walkies with the AES encryption. Budget cuts only allowed us to get two of those radios. One of them was with the deputy I sent out and the other was back in the court office."
"Plenty of bodies down the street, Cortini. We'll need to pick one up off an officer if we want to make contact." Was Jill's quick response.
Daniel was quiet beside her, and Jill inwardly winced at her acerbic tone. Jill couldn't think about how many people were already lost—how many of those people she knew.
"They suspended you and the rest of your squad." Daniel's hand was on her bicep as he gently pulled her to a stop beside him. "I heard the rumors through the departments. Something about a conspiracy and the Arklay murders."
Jill paused beside him and glanced down at his hand before she turned her hardening gaze up to his light brown eyes. "This is Umbrella's doing, Daniel. They were conducting illegal experiments up in those mountains. Part of that research escaped into the forest and that's what attacked our citizens on those trails. This isn't some conspiracy, it's virology that's gotten out of control. We tried to warn the city and we were silenced."
Daniel was stepping closer to her as his eyes narrowed slightly. His handsome and youthful features were pinching into disbelief before his sharpened jaw clenched in what Jill hoped was resolve. The evidence of her words was laying at their feet.
"Alright," he said before he glanced at the men in front of them. "But I think it's a little more complicated than that now."
"Why?" Jill was asking as he stepped away from her and called out to one of the men eyeing them from under his campaign hat.
The golden cord around the brim was dripping from the falling rain, but the eyes that were surveying her from underneath the hat were conflicted. The awaiting officer's eyes moved over her shoulder and to the horrors that lay beyond in downtown Raccoon.
Arklay County Sheriff Department's uniforms were easier to spot than RFD's or RPD's. They were a pale brown with a darker brown stripe down the sides of the pant legs. The epaulets at their shoulders were matching in color and followed the traditional marks of history. In many rural areas, sheriffs and their deputies were the principal form of police. It had become increasingly important to be able to differentiate between typical city police officers and the Sheriff's office. As a county official, whatever the color of their uniform, a sheriff was generally, but not always, the highest law enforcement officer of a county.
After RPD had been established for the city, the ASD had been relinquished to a much smaller department, but they were still highly respected within the city's history. A fact Jill never forgot.
"Sir, orders?" The Deputy Sheriff called to Daniel while Jill's question hung in the air.
"Get back to the outpost and edit the emergency broadcast." Daniel was looking at the five men that stood watching them. "We need to get people out toward The Railway Marshaling Yard."
The Deputy Sheriff nodded his head and was quickly turning to run toward a patrol car further back. Jill had the thought that it would be the last time she saw the man.
"They're pushing the barricades up further, sir." A man to the left called. The patch of a lieutenant stood out to Jill in the growing darkness of the street.
"What barricades?" Jill was speaking up as she glanced once more toward the street.
A man in RFD blues stepped up next and Jill squinted to see the familiar face of Fire Captain Joseph Moon of Station 11; none of his men stood with him.
"The Army National Guard." Captain Moon answered her then.
"The Army is here?" Jill was finally holstering her weapon as she met the man's eyes dead on. "When? Are they coming into the city?"
"No," Daniel said beside her. "They've barricaded all the roads out of Raccoon."
"What?" Jill uttered as the twinge of anger swept through her tone. "We need to evacuate while we still have people alive. What are their orders? Where are we receiving from? Who is the authorizing command you made contact with?"
"We're not receiving orders," The lieutenant ahead of her called, drawing her attention once more. "We have a satellite phone we have utilized since the Bright Raccoon 21st Century Plan. We were able to call out to White Pine for information before the service was cut off."
"What are you saying?" Jill's voice rang out with a deadly authority of her own as she gestured back toward the burning city. "They're not going to help us?"
"They're containing us, Jill." Daniel was walking past her to the patrol cars as he reached into one of the vehicles to pull out a jacket from his front seat. "The Pentagon has released a statement to the press on the state of Raccoon City, Michigan. It's been reported as radioactivity in the area from Arklay County line to White Pine. They're quarantining us until units can assemble and assess the population. No one is allowed into and out of the city without authorization."
"Radioactivity? What—Half the city will be dead before an order gets out!" Jill's thinly contained rage was pushing through before she was turning away from the men and moving to walk back toward the south.
"Where are you going?" Daniel called out.
"To save as many people as I can." Jill stated firmly. "I'll get the message out about the railyard and head there with any survivors I find."
"We're coming with you." Fire Captain Joseph Moon said behind her.
The previous S.T.A.R.S. member was pausing as she looked toward the aging man's face. The weather drenched officers beside him were nodding mutely as they held their weapons tightly in their hands. Daniel was watching Jill with a look of his own.
Duty was staring out at Jill through different eyes, but it looked the same on all that ever wore it.
It was then that Jill saw through her own beckoning anger and really took in the men before her. Four Sheriff's Department Officers and one Raccoon City Fire Department Captain; men who served their city day and night. Men who worked long hours away from their families—missing birthdays, holidays, special moments with their children and spouses—so that they could serve a higher purpose. Their faces reflected the unspoken pain of not knowing the status of their family's whereabouts, or even if they'd make it out of the city alive.
And still they served.
The storm that continued to rage around them was blowing trash and fallen debris through the streets. A few signs that hung over the building's roof caught Jill's eye as she noticed the familiar symbol of the pharmaceutical company that led the city in its shadow.
Umbrella's advertisement stared back at her.
"The Common Cure: Safsprin
In Stores now!"
Umbrella had made its home in Raccoon sometime before the 1980's and had been steadily using its power and influence over the county with the money it brought into the town. Raccoon had begun to thrive in the wake of the lucrative corporation when it began to donate to different aspects of the city.
Raccoon City had the lowest number of homeless population per capita than any other city in the United States. Funding had been placed into mental health programs, substance use recovery centers, and housing projects. The Arklay Memorial Hospital had been built as a gift to the city in 1987 and attracted some of the highest achieving talent throughout the nation. Raccoon University had been bolstered to high marks as professors around the globe fought to obtain spots in the science division of the school to work into the bridged program for Umbrella.
The Umbrella Corporation had fostered pride into the city of Raccoon, and its citizens flourished as a result. Within that pride came the blind contempt when the money began to sway the politics of the city. In the wake of the truth, no one had been listening when it mattered.
If the Spencer Mansion had been any indication with its timeline, Raccoon would fall into complete waste in the matter of days.
"Alright," Jill Valentine said as she addressed her new team then. "Then there's a few things you should know before we head out."
Five sets of eyes were on her, and Jill found that dangerous amount of hope strengthening in her chest once more.
On the southern side of the downtown area, rain was rolling against the windows of the second-floor hallway of the Raccoon City Police Department when the sounds of Claire Redfield's panting breaths echoed in the space of the hall. She was kneeling on the floor with her fingertips pressing into the expanse of Leon Kennedy's back. His mouth was warm against hers while his hands fanned out at her hips and were moving slowly up her back. He pulled her closer against him and Claire felt like she was drowning in the embrace.
There were a few moments in Claire's history that she could look back on and truly find herself connecting with a future she desired: The year she had graduated from the fire academy, the outcome of running successful calls on the ambulance in her first year of probation, and when she had been placed at Fire Station 12 alongside Briggs Cheney as a permanent crew member.
As Claire tilted her chin up to Leon's to deepen their kiss, she found herself entering the same headspace that was generated from feeling like she had found a place in her life she had been working toward; however, the daunting reality of that feeling struck her instantly. She had only met Leon about 24 hours ago and the feeling felt misplaced in her usual role of deliberate and calculated decisions—it felt messy.
It also felt right, and Claire wasn't sure if that was a variable of their situation, or fate whispering around her while her heart pounded a beat that was older than time itself.
A soft sound released from the back of her throat when one of the rookie's hands reached up to cup her chin and his teeth pulled at her lower lip to quietly bid her to open her mouth.
Claire had resisted many different offers for a date. In fact, she had actively avoided entering into a relationship since she had broken up with her boyfriend in high school. Briggs had done his best to dig around at her single status, but Claire had brushed it off each time.
Duty hadn't left much time for romantic relationships, and truth be told she hadn't made room for it.
Guilt for a past she couldn't change didn't allow for her to see anything else but a penance she felt she needed to serve. The 14-year-old girl she used to be had set a course long ago and Claire hadn't found herself deviating from that since.
Until now.
Claire felt her hands begin to shake as she allowed Leon's tongue to softly swirl around hers. His warmth and steady hands that moved to the skin of her lower back pulled at the frayed reasons she had shut herself off from living a normal life. The tender way he was handling her echoed in a vibration throughout her body and it called to something she had been ignoring for too long.
"Claire?" Leon's voice caused her to open her eyes and she knew the vulnerability he could suddenly see there. "Do you want me to stop?"
"I—" She began as she sat back on her knees with her hands slipping over his shoulders and down to the front of his vest. Claire's eyes were catching on the badge at his belt that reflected the overhead light from above when she noticed how much she was trembling.
"Hey," His hand was curling around one of hers at his vest and it caused her to meet his gentle look. "I'm sorry, I'll slow down if you want. This is… pretty fast for me too. I've been thinking of doing that since I saw you sitting in your ambulance at the hospital though."
"No, you don't have to slow down, I'm just—" She breathed a laugh when Leon's smiling expression deepened, and his left eyebrow rose slightly. "—really? Since the ambulance bay? Must have made a hell of an impression when you initially pulled me over. You didn't go around kissing all the EMTs in New York then?"
"None of the other EMTs mouthed off to me when I pulled them over, so, no." Leon answered as his other hand moved to tilt her chin up toward his once more. His gaze was probing as he studied her closer.
"That's what did it for you?" Claire felt like she was losing her breath all over again with the way he was looking at her. "Someone questioning your authority?"
"That's one thing that caught my attention." He responded softly as he gave her that tilt of his head that shifted his hair across his face. The rookie had too many weapons at his disposal. "Could be many other things too, Claire."
Leon was looking slowly back and forth between her eyes while he seemed to consider something further.
"Could be the way you pushed through and made sure you and your partner made it somewhere safely in the middle of so much chaos." Leon's fingers were slowly running from her chin to her cheek.
"Could be the way you put yourself in danger to protect him and one of our officers as you made your way through these halls." His hand was slowly pushing into her damp, unbound hair.
"Could be the strength you gave to a rookie as he made his way into a dangerous situation to make the place safe for everyone." Leon's other hand was releasing her fingers at his vest and wound itself beneath her left leg. "And the way you're so open about who you are."
"Or," He continued as his other hand buried itself at the nape of her neck. Claire's eyes were wide as she opened her mouth to try and speak. "It may be the motivation you have to serve others. One I understand well."
The hand in her hair moved away and slipped beneath her other leg and Claire gasped as Leon lifted her so that she was straddling his lap with one smooth movement.
"You left the safety of this station—" Lips were on hers again.
"Walked into a dying city—" Claire let out a soft sound of yearning as he continued to speak through the pulls he made at her mouth. His tone was deepening with each word he said.
"Led trapped survivors through the streets of hundreds—"
"Leon—" Claire's skin was starting to feel too tight as one of his hands pulled her hips closer against his once more.
"Sent them ahead with your only weapon while you stayed to save a child," Leon was pulling her head back gently with his other hand back in her hair while the words settled between them both.
"I thought you were dead when they came through the precinct doors without you. Cindy, the waitress from J's, told us what you did; she told us what you were willing to sacrifice." Leon's lips paused against hers while Claire panted. Her eyes were opening to look up into his as her chest heaved.
"I stood at the gates, and I kept thinking about what a fool I was to let you go off alone. You were one woman against a population—carrying a crying, orphaned child while your enemies hunted by sound around you." The expression living on Leon's face spoke to something deeper than a man with a simple crush. It was the look that dragged Claire's attention closer before she had crawled through the vent an hour before.
"You want to know what I see when I look at you, Claire?" Leon was now panting softly too as he sat with her on his lap on the floor of the hall. "When I saw you running to the gates of the precinct with that child, you were the most powerful thing I had ever witnessed. Even when I first looked at you on the seat of that Harley, I could see it living in your eyes."
"See what?" Claire's voice was hoarse when a single tear fell down her cheek.
She was lifting a hand in embarrassment at her sudden emotional response and she moved to swipe the tear away. Leon's hand caught hers just before she could. He was pulling her hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to her knuckles before dropping her hand and thumbing the tear away himself.
"Have you ever heard the legend of Pandora's Box?" Leon asked instead of answering her question. When Claire shook her head, he continued, "When Prometheus stole fire from the heavens, he was punished by the Gods when they gave his wife, Pandora, a box. Out of curiosity, Pandora opened the box and within the box lay sickness, death, and many other evils which were then released into the world. Though she hastened to close the container, only one thing was left behind: Hope."
Claire's whimper was foreign to her own ears when Leon leaned close to kiss her damp cheek before he whispered into her ear. "'Of all good things that mortals lack, hope in the soul alone stays back.'"
"Hope," His lips were brushing the shell of her ear. "Hope, like what inspired me to become a police officer in a world that decides to destroy itself in some small way every day. Where people like you and I work in a job that often has us walking into the worst days of someone else's life. I look at you, Claire and you give me hope for what comes after."
"And what comes after, Leon?" Claire responded earnestly when he turned his face back to hers.
Leon's answering smile was bright in the shadows of their situation, and he was leaning forward to kiss her sweetly once more.
"Hey, Kennedy!" Detective Elliot's voice was filtering through the bubble they had created for themselves. The door at the end of the hall was slightly pushed open. "You guys almost done in the showers? We got people that need to clean up."
Both of them had jumped at the sound of the detective's voice. Leon's grin had almost turned shy as he glanced down at their still-clothed forms.
"We haven't even started yet, detective." Claire found her cajoling voice calling down to the man.
"Jesus Christ," Detective Elliot's muttering reply carried down to them. "Figure it out and come back out." The door was snapping closed shortly after.
Claire turned her attention back to the grinning face of her rookie.
"Probably for the best." Leon was saying as his eyes made a slow walk up her body back to her face.
"Oh? Why's that?"
"Because you're absolutely filthy." The mirth in Leon's eyes was infectious and Claire found herself releasing a laugh alongside him.
"Thanks, Leon," Claire murmured dryly as she leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You're not a bad kisser yourself."
"I'm pretty good at washing backs too—did you need some help with that?"
"Leon!"
Leon's laughter followed her as she untangled herself from him and walked through the door into the showers. Her face was almost as red as her jacket, but her smile was stretched wider than any living memory previous.
While she hurriedly undressed and showered, Leon had been kind enough to search through the lockers and found her a pair of jeans that seemed like they may fit. She could see the shadow of him outlined from outside the shower curtain when he came in to set the clean clothes on the counter.
Claire quickly rinsed herself of the blood and gore that had seeped through her RFD uniform pants and onto her legs; the water of the shower ran red for a few minutes while Claire studied her body for any cuts or wounds from her fight in the streets.
When she had finished, Claire found herself apprehensive about wearing someone else's clothes who may still be in the station, but given that Rita was the only female officer left, Leon had quietly assured Claire from the other side of the door that it was not her locker he had found them in.
Leon had also refused to leave the hall while he waited for Claire to finish her shower. She had suggested that he could go and catch up with the others so he wasn't waiting on her, but the rookie's voice through the door had been kind when he told her he wouldn't be letting her out of his sight for a while.
Where Claire would have usually been insulted at the insinuation that she couldn't handle herself, she found a warmth curling around her heart at the level of protectiveness in his tone. She was finding that she didn't want him to leave either.
Dressed now in the new jeans, her boots, her black tank top, and her freshly wiped red leather jacket, Claire left her wet hair to dry at her shoulders when she stepped back into the hall that Leon was waiting in.
The blonde cop was leaning against the hall wall when she emerged, and the eye contact they made was alive with a new promise that seemed to be stretching out between them. Good nerves were rattling Claire's chest but so was something else.
"C'mon, partner," Leon was saying as he pushed away from the wall with his shoulder. "They're gearing up for sleeping shifts now and I think you're the first on that rotation."
Feeling as if Leon had been on the upper hand for long enough, she tried her hand at reversing that effect. "Sounds good. Did you want to be assigned to sleep next to me too? I want to make sure Kevin knows how far this union goes."
Her hand brushed his as she walked past with a coyness pulling at her lips. When the silence dragged on for a little longer, she was pausing to look back at the young cop.
She hadn't garnered a blush unfortunately, but the new look Leon was giving her gave her the sensation that she had in fact won something.
With quiet steps and a hand placed at her lower back, Leon was beside her and angling them for the door when he finally responded, "If I had it my way, Kevin and anyone else looking would never have a doubt."
"Have you always been this confident?" Claire tilted her head up to look at him.
"No," Leon's hair was shifting over his brow as he tilted his head toward hers. The smile spoke to something he had won too. "I had to work really hard at it."
The great hall was quieter than it had been before. The large clock on the second-floor landing that overlooked the foyer read 3:52 a.m. A few of the officers had begun to pull blankets out of the emergency packs they had found in the small storage room along with the food. The three original civilians had left their duties of calling around the city from the front desk and were nestled near the eastern side of the hall with the blankets on the floor. The young girl with the bandage at her side appeared to be sleeping with her head in her father's lap. The father himself was propped against the wall with his fingers slowly brushing her hair from her forehead.
Claire stepped into the hall with Leon close in tow when her eyes landed on the father and his daughter. The man's skin was pale and sweaty looking even from her position across the way. An uneasiness was settling into Claire's gut as she stared at them for a few moments.
The sharp cry from a baby drew her eyes away and Claire was looking over to Wes Drucker who was cradling Liam against his chest. The officer was speaking softly to the child as he bounced in a smooth rhythm near the front doors of the station.
Marvin, Kevin, and Detective Elliot were standing nearby as they spoke in almost whispers. Marvin was rubbing at his temple while his gaze continuously seemed to dart toward the front doors. As if he was looking out into the city beyond, where the rest of his duties lay in ruins.
Claire remembered the lumbering monster with the rocket launcher and swallowed thickly in her thoughts on how to explain this to the men and women within the RPD.
Rita and a few of the other officers were standing in the reception office with the survivors Claire had retrieved from the Apple Inn. The mayor's daughter sat against the far wall of the reception room talking quietly to a petite woman with blood drying on part of the skin on her chest that was peeking out from her camisole.
Leon closed the door behind them, and the sound echoed slightly in the calm hall.
Many eyes turned toward them both. A few smirks could be seen on some of the officers' faces.
"The tips of your ears are turning red." Leon's voice murmured beside her head.
"I'm a grown woman and what I do with the rookie officer in the women's bathroom is my business, right?" Claire retorted lowly while the officers finally turned their attention away from them and resumed their conversations.
"It sure is." Leon's hand moved from her back to give her hip a solid squeeze before he was walking toward his lieutenant.
Claire found herself rolling her eyes when Briggs' head popped out from the reception area and waved her over. If she thought she was embarrassed now…
"Redfield," Briggs greeted her as he approached. He kept his voice low for the benefit of those trying to sleep. "You're looking rather chipper. You don't have the glow though—You want me to show Kingsley a few tips from Station 12?"
"Oh, god, please spare me this." Claire was responding to the jab while she grabbed her partner's elbow and began to walk into where the other survivors waited.
Liam's cries were getting louder as the child continued to fuss. Claire found herself hesitating to check on the child but decided to wait until she had a better idea on their situation.
"Too tired to give you much shit now," Briggs admitted with a dramatic sigh. His skin was almost stark white now. "I'll catch up with you on that. We've got most of our survivors checked out though. They had some pretty nice things to say about you."
"'This is just like hunting with your father'?" A slightly angry voice interrupted with Claire's quoted statement to their right.
"Well," Briggs said as his eyes slid over to the blonde waitress who had walked up to them as soon as they entered the room. The waitress' hands were on her hips as she stared at Claire. "Mostly everyone had nice things to say about you."
Claire winced and lifted a hand to wave slightly at Cindy Lennox. "Hey, Cindy."
"I can't believe you did that, Claire."
"To be fair, you weren't that terrible at hunting; your dad did say you had a stigmatism that always messed with your crosshair training."
"You're terrible." Cindy said as her hands dropped from her hips.
Arms were wrapping around Claire when Cindy pressed into her side with a watery laugh lifting between them.
"Thank you for coming for us, Claire. I don't know what would have happened if you didn't." Claire was pulling back from her friend with a wobbling smile gracing her features.
"I'm just glad you're safe, Cindy. Life would be awfully boring without you."
Claire was turning her attention back to Briggs then. "Is Liam going to be ok?"
"That his name?" Briggs asked as he scratched his chin. He lifted a shoulder and nodded his head out toward the hall where Wes was still trying to calm the baby. "Healthy breaths per minute, good circulation to his extremities and registers well to stimuli. Hard to tell of any internal damage right now. It's the best assessment we're going to get with these circumstances."
Claire blew out a breath and gave her own nod. Cindy was squeezing her arm before she went to sit next to the mayor's daughter and the other woman.
Claire's attention was traveling over her shoulder when she spotted Mark, the African American security guard, from earlier. Beside him was a slightly younger man in a dark brown suit who was staring at her with a sarcastic twist gracing his features.
"Doctor Hamilton?" Claire uttered in disbelief.
Briggs grunted pointedly beside her. He had recognized him too then.
Rich laughter was bubbling up from the man as he came forward with his hand held out. "Just George now, Claire. Not much of a surgeon without the operating room."
Claire was sliding her hand into his with a grin of her own. "Every doctor has a weakness, George. I'm sure you'll manage. I can't say I'm too upset at finding a doctor in the apocalypse, even if you're just a surgeon."
George had worked as the head surgeon at Arklay Memorial for 2 years now. He had come into town with the whispers following that a famous, good looking surgeon from Nevada had decided to transfer to the facility. Many of the nurses in the ER had been swapping rumors when Claire and Briggs had dropped off their patients at the time. He had been nicknamed 'McDreamy' from some television show that many of the nurses had liked. Claire had been lost to the connection, but she did have her own opportunity to meet the doctor when he had been trying to escape something in the ER one night—probably the nurses if Claire really wanted to consider the variables.
Two years ago, Claire had finished up with her patient turnover to the head ER nurse and had ducked into the EMS breakroom to raid their refrigerator when the door behind her had opened and closed very quickly.
"Oh," A cultured voice uttered behind her. "Oh, you're just an ambulance driver, thank god."
Claire had blinked, stood up from her bent over position at the mini fridge and slowly rotated toward the man standing there in his pristine scrubs.
"A what?" Claire had asked acidly.
The surgeon sighed and rubbed one of his temples while he began to pull the nearby cupboards open. "You drive the ambulance. Not a very hard deduction given your uniform. The nurses also don't eat those snacks."
'Ambulance Driver' was considered the derogatory way to insult the local paramedics and EMT-B's that ran the emergency and the non-emergency calls in the area. It was a feud between nurses and EMTs that existed before Claire's tenure, but the lingo stuck, especially when there were personality differences between the EMS and the hospital staff.
Claire's eyes had caught on his name tag as he continued his pawing through the cabinets. "Well, don't let me get in your way, Mr…?"
"Doctor Hamilton—do you know where they keep the aspirin in here?" The man—Doctor Hamilton had responded without looking back at her.
"Wouldn't have a clue, George. I'm just an ambulance driver. Have a good night." When he turned toward her, she had given him a sassy wink before she breezed out of the breakroom.
Claire saw Doctor Hamilton on and off throughout the following years. His stature with his patients and staff was always professional when he was in the ER, but whenever he laid eyes on Claire coming through, he would let a rare expression slip through his mask, and he would smile. Briggs had noted the interaction a few times and blamed Claire's unpopularity with the nursing staff on those smiles alone.
Presently, the memory warmed Claire as she took in the surviving surgeon. Apparently, some men just liked being talked shit to. Seemed to be a running theme in her life.
"What's the plan for medical treatment?" Claire asked as she turned toward Briggs. "Do you need help with any of this?" Claire's eyes looked to the doctor as if inviting him to join.
"The plan," Briggs answered as he turned toward one of the chairs in the lounge and plopped heavily into it. "Is for you to get some rest. I think you played enough Ricky Rescue tonight. We're dividing up the people for sleeping shifts."
"I don't want to leave you to do the work—" Claire started to say as she really started to take in her partner's pallor.
"I'm fine, Claire." Briggs said with a shake of his head. His serious temperament wasn't unusual given his 'charming' nature, but Claire knew it to be more than that. "I'm going to rest too. Apparently, the officers have marked a map of the surviving people they have found in the city. Tomorrow is the big day in deciding what we can do to rescue them. Besides, we have McDreamy here to help me with the minor stuff."
Claire winced at the familiar nickname and looked over toward Doctor Hamilton. He was staring determinedly at the floor and was trying not to smile.
"Hey, Briggs," Claire asked, a devious smile itching across her features. "What's the difference between God and a surgeon?"
"God doesn't think he's a surgeon." George finished the joke before Briggs could respond.
"Gotta respect a doctor that knows how to laugh at himself." Briggs muttered.
"Need to respect the ambulance drivers who lack originality in place of their courage." Doctor Hamilton responded in the cultured draw.
"This reception room is going to get really interesting." Cindy whistled as she looked back and forth between the three of them from her position near the wall.
Claire was glancing over at where Marvin and the other officers still stood by the main door. Leon had joined them and was nodding quietly to something Kevin was saying.
"Alright, I'll catch up with you in a few hours. Try not to compare sizes while I'm gone. We might be the last three trained medical monkeys in this town." Claire finally submitted then.
"Yeah, yeah," Briggs muttered with a more somber tone. He glanced at the doctor before he patted the bench beside him. "We can tell stories while we wait for the next craziest thing."
"Afraid I don't have that many to share." Doctor Hamilton sighed.
"So much for the theoretical originality." Briggs waved Claire off and she managed a smile at his retort, but her eyes darted down to his bandaged arm once more before she was turning to look over at the other survivors.
"See you guys in a few." Claire called.
Mark lifted his head and met Claire's eyes from his position on the cot near another survivor she hadn't been introduced to. He gave her a nod with a warm smile before he turned back to his conversation.
Doctor Hamilton was flashing her another one of those smiles before he lifted two fingers and gave the form of a salute at his hip. "See you, Claire."
Cindy was linking her arm with Claire's before she could fully make it out of the reception room.
"So…" The blonde waitress drawled in that familiar way that had Claire internally groaning.
"What?"
"Didn't know you knew the doctor." Cindy said with a large smile while they walked.
"Please don't say his title like that, his head is fat enough."
"Not a bad choice given the circumstances." Cindy's stare was burning a hole in the side of Claire's face.
"I have better things to be thinking about, Cindy." Claire tried to make her voice come out forcefully, but it sounded devious even to her ears.
"Oh? Who—" Cindy began.
"Ready to lay down, Claire?" Leon was walking up with one hand in his pocket.
"Ah," Cindy was pulling her arm from Claire's. She was turning to return to the reception room before she said. "I'll tell the doctor the bad news for you."
Claire sighed somewhat loudly as she watched her friend walk away. Leon's eyes were the ones now burning into the side of her face. Why was her love life always the one open for debate? Weren't they all in the middle of an apocalypse?
"The doctor—" Leon started to ask.
"Doctors and medics don't usually mix, Leon. Don't worry."
"What about cops and firefighters?" Claire was turning toward him as he spoke. That cheeky smile was back on his face.
"Guess you're going to have to find out, Kennedy." Claire replied when she spotted the blankets in his other arm. "Are you laying down too?"
Leon was nodding when the sound of Liam's cry was reaching her ears again. Claire was walking past the rookie when she made her way over to where Wes was still trying to console the child.
Wes' tired eyes looked up as she approached. He nodded down to the baby before he said, "Sorry, I'm trying to get him to settle down. I changed him and used one of the bandanas someone left in the washroom. Don't really have food for him but we had some soy milk in one of the fridges. My wife told me you can't really give dairy to babies until after a year—I just didn't want him to be starved and—"
"You have kids, Wes?" Claire interrupted as she stepped up to Liam's line of sight. The officer in front of her was a father and her heart felt like it was cracking in her chest and the anxious way he spoke.
Claire's eyes drifted down to Liam; the child couldn't have been more than nine months old.
"Yeah…" Wes said after a moment of hesitation. "A six-year-old and a two-year-old. They were at home with my wife when…"
Claire's eyes met his when she placed a hand of understanding on his arm. She watched as Wes' lips shook for a moment before he seemed to reign it in and let out a breath. His eyes were wavering as he met her stare gratefully.
"May I?" Claire asked carefully with her hands held out.
Wes was passing Liam over to Claire after a moment.
Liam's deep brown eyes were cracking open to look up at Claire while he continued to cry. Small hands were tangling in the hair at her shoulder when she began to hush him softly. "I promised you we'd be safe, didn't I, Liam? Shhhh."
Wes and Leon were quiet as Claire continued to speak to Liam in soft tones. Soon the hall was growing in silence and the softer conversations of the other officers and survivors could be heard as Liam began to relax in her hold. The child's head eventually rested on her chest.
"You're a natural." Wes was saying beside her.
Marvin was strolling up next, his eyes were on Liam before he turned his serious expression to Claire. "That was some fine work getting those survivors back, Claire."
"Thanks, Marvin." Claire said with a dip of her chin. "Not all of them made it back though. Did they tell you what happened?"
"The guy you had an altercation with took Cindy's shotgun." Marvin said carefully. Claire was bristling at the news. "He, the young woman he was with, and two others decided they stood better odds in a warehouse he had stocked up. They split before they reached the gates."
"Fucking asshole." Claire muttered as she leaned down to kiss Liam's head. Tiny fingers flexed in her hair, and she held the child just a little bit closer.
"I know you're laying down, but let's talk about what happened out there when you wake up. One of the survivors said there was another man and something else that made it onto the street before they turned the corner." Marvin said with curiosity lining his tone.
"Brad from S.T.A.R.S. is alive." Claire answered hesitantly. Marvin's eyes lit up and he took a step forward at the news. "He was running from something though. Something…not entirely human."
Marvin, Wes, Leon, and Kevin as he joined them, all listened closely as she described the monster that wielded the rocket launcher. She kept her voice calm for Liam's benefit, but the shocked looks around her was enough to mirror the terror she was feeling inside.
"What exactly are we dealing with here?" Kevin spoke first. He glanced over at the survivors in the reception area. Briggs and the doctor seemed to be having a lively discussion and it looked to be entertaining everyone in the room.
"It said something. I couldn't make it out over all the noise, but I think it had been chasing Brad."
"Boards on the windows aren't going to keep that out." Leon expressed as he looked toward the front doors.
"No," Marvin nodded beside him. He was looking over at Wes next. "We have some weapons we can have brought up here. Few of the officers are down at the storage area now; I'll radio them. Thank you, Claire. Come find me when you wake up."
Claire nodded to the lieutenant. She was glancing over at Wes. "Do you mind if he sleeps with me?" She jutted her chin down toward Liam.
"Not at all. I don't think he'd let me take him if I tried anyway." The smile Wes gave her was one of a father who knew not to wake a sleeping child. Claire bid them all a good night and she turned with Leon at her side.
When Leon's expression caught her eye, Claire noticed the rookie looked transfixed and she tilted her head at him while they walked.
"What's that look for?" She whispered while she moved with Leon to lay their blankets near the space in front of some cots where a few officers already lay sleeping.
"Don't even know how to put it into words, Claire." Leon said as he laid the blankets down and gestured for her to lay down first.
"Aren't you a little young for paternal instincts?" Claire was muttering out the side of her mouth so she didn't disturb Liam.
"I'm 21; When is the appropriate age to feel a connection to young life?" Leon answered just as lowly.
"I'm older than you? You dog—" Claire enjoyed the twinkle that was returning to his eyes when she bumped her shoulder lightly into his.
Easing herself down with Liam, Claire looked around at the space to find something protective to lay him within. A few pillows lay next to the cot on her right and she made quick work of creating a space for Liam to be caged in against. Liam opened his eyes slightly as Claire transferred him down on his back next to her. With her head under her arm, she lay on her side with her hand brushing the wisps of Liam's hair on his soft head. The child's eyes closed immediately.
Claire had found herself always connecting with children. It was something she couldn't help even in the ambulance.
Leon was still watching her when she glanced up. Her eyes were already growing heavy while she made a jerking motion with her head. The rookie was stepping over her and laying down behind her on his side.
"Are you sure, Claire? People talk." Leon was parroting her earlier words back to her with a whisper.
"Good." Claire responded with a drowsy tone. "They're already going to talk anyway."
Leon's arm was curving around her waist and dipping into the space where her ribs met the floor. With a gentle tug, he pulled her back against his chest and laid his head down as he settled in.
Claire huffed a breath and let the weight of her head sink further into her arm. Her eyes were on Liam as he now slept with her fingers smoothing over the back of his head.
Had anyone told her this would be how her day ended, Claire would've laughed herself silly. Now, even as the moans of the dead could be barely heard from the protective walls of the police station, Claire had the last conscious thought that this embrace felt safer and more homelike than anything else had before.
The firefighter paramedic from Station 12 slept soundly in Leon Kennedy's hold as the hours ticked on. She awoke once or twice when another person moved through and began to set up their sleeping stations every now and then, but she fell back asleep soon after. Every time she moved, the arm around her waist would tighten until she settled in again.
The sun was beginning to rise when the first of the screams echoed through the main hall. Claire jerked awake beside Leon and lifted her head to see the man with the daughter lunge and tear the young woman's throat out just a few feet to their right.
Shouts were rising all around her when she understood that the bites were now a confirmed marker for transmission. They hadn't been far off the mark when they spoke of the rabies virus. Whatever was killing people was also transferred through blood and saliva just as rabies did.
Claire was pulling a screaming Liam into her arms when Leon yanked out his weapon from behind her. His hand was tugging at Claire's arm to pull her behind him when she stood. Another scream erupted from across the area of the hall. Somewhere further away.
Many of the survivors within the precinct had been bitten prior to their arrival and now it was clear that it was all just a matter of when they'd turn.
