I smell food.
In the dark of waking I hear the snap of bacon and hiss of eggs dropped in hot grease. I can hardly move - my stomach tightens and neck flares with pain. I take a deep breath and settle back. The bed is soft - feathers. It smells clean.
I try to open my eyes. Brutally bright light comes from a square to my right. I blink and turn my head. The room wavers into focus. A house - a shack like all the others, but in much better shape. Lived in. Likely by someone who doesn't explode into a blobby-tentacled monstrosity - its hard to image those things liking their meat anything but raw.
A man is standing by the stove with his back to me. I squint my eyes and try to look like I'm sleeping. This gets harder the second I realize I'm naked.
His profile suggests he's a young man - his long hair suggests he's local - his fastidious hands suggest he's cultured.
And maybe his face will split down the centre with teeth.
I want my guns.
He's preoccupied - I risk moving my head a little. There. On a chair, left side, butt of the pistol asking for my hand.
A sound like feathers.
Click.
The man freezes.
"Hello, stranger." I smile at him down the length of my gun. "Turn around slowly."
He carefully lays the spatula on the counter and turns, hair in his eyes, palms up and out. His vest is stained with blood.
He seems to notice it as soon as I do - one hand drops to pick at it in disgust. He tsks.
"Didn't get to change," he says; his accent is one part purr, two parts growl. When he smiles at me I sit straighter, but my gun never moves.
"You might want to turn that off," I say, flicking my gun in the direction of the smoking bacon. "Don't worry - I'll be here." As I speak I reach out to my clothes on the chair. He watches me as I stand.
"Nice tattoo."
"The bacon, if you don't mind."
I hastily pull on my clothes. As my new friend prepares two plates he starts to hum a little tune. A foreign lullaby. His hands are clean - his sleeves are rolled tight back to the elbows.
The gun belt snaps on my hip. "You're a doctor."
He laughs softly. "Not yet a doctor. An intern. They send us out to tend the rústico. Practice before we get to the cerdos ricos." He takes a plate in each hand and motions with his head to follow.
I drop my pistol in its holster. I haven't had bacon in ages. He kept me naked in a soft bed; left my gun where I could clearly get it. Likely he's not going to fork me in the eye over eggs.
Still. I leave the latch off.
We sit with the late morning light shining down on the table, slowly melting the unlit candles at the centre. I reflect the sun into his eyes with my knife.
"Are we safe?"
He chews. "For now," he says calmly. "The aldeanos are preoccupied with the destruction of their gate." He waves a hand. "I believe you were sleeping."
I rip a piece of bacon between my teeth. "It seemed like a good thing to do at the time."
Another polite laugh. He flicks his dark hair out of his dark eyes. "I'm Jean." He extends his hand.
It is soft and smooth. A doctor.
Something isn't right.
"Jean," I say as our fingers part. "French?"
"I was born in France." He shovels a fork-full of eggs into his mouth. He turns his head flirtingly away from the light I'm shining in his eyes. "You're here for the American?"
Clever.
"Yes. Do you know where he is?" I continue to eat. I feel that twinge in my neck again and ignore it. Focus all my attention at the weight on my hip, the eggs on my plate. The air begins to fizzle - like the taste of tin before lightning strikes.
Jean smiles - perfect teeth, white and straight - and leans into the light bouncing off my knife. It makes his eye glow green.
"I am a friend, Bailey. Do not be suspicious of me."
"Did you know people around here have monsters exploding out of them?"
His smile falters. "Yes."
"Makes it hard to trust your fellow man," I say. "No matter how cute he's trying to be."
He falls back from the glare and chuckles under his breath. "Debo haber cogidole cuando usted estaba dormido."
The pistol is already in my hand, aimed at his head. I chew my food slowly.
"Didn't catch that, Johnny-boy."
He pushes back from the table slowly, shaking his head. He holds his hands in front of him and gives me a sly grin.
"Want to tie me up, boss? Will you listen to what I have to say then?"
A sound almost too soft to hear - sweat-hot skin coming off vinyl. Jean clasps his fingers together. Grin widens. Light shining on the candles makes it hard to see him clearly.
Shit. Bad fucking vacation.
Thump. Thump-thump.
Behind me. I widen my eyes at Jean. Moment of truth, buddy.
"You first," I say with an encouraging point of my gun. His hands go up again - he looks amused, not scared. I follow him out into the main room.
Thump.
Coming from the cupboard to my left. Jean walks up to it and turns his head. "This might answer some of you concerns," he says with a smirk.
Gun steady and ready. "Do it."
He grabs the handles and swings open the door, taking a wide step back.
I meet the frightened, angry eyes of a girl. She's bound with rope at her wrists and ankles; gagged with a dirty cloth tied tight around her hair. She whimpers at the sight of me and my gun.
For a second I consider shooting her.
Fuck you. Fuck your problems. Fuck exploding villagers. I want Leon, and I want out. I don't want to get involved.
I let out a breath and lower the pistol.
"Untie her."
Jean makes no complaint. The girl recoils from him - like a cat would with a stranger. This is her first time seeing him. He quickly pulls out the knots - she wiggles her hands out of the binding and pulls back the gag.
Smack!
Jean falls back from the blow.
"Bastard!" shouts the girl, pulling at the rope on her ankles. Once free she scrambles to get a Jean's face.
I shoot a hole in the roof of the hut.
The pair freezes. The crackle has gone out of the air some - I think we're through. For now.
"Look, I've had a rough day." I rub my temple with my gun hand. "And I'm tired of surprises. Tell me what's going on, or I'll blow your fucking heads off. You have five minutes."
They take turns, first the girl accusing Jean and Jean holding up his hands in defence - soon they're filling in the gaps for each other. I listen even though I don't want to.
In the end it's longer than five minutes. I stop caring. Leon - my Leon - begins to blur in the flurry of details. Big fucking problems. I listen and hope I'm still at the bridge being nibbled on by monsters. Dying in my sleep.
By the time they finishing talking, I'm involved.
It isn't a matter of choice. I'll give the doctor credit - he bows his head in shame when he tells me what he shot into my neck while I was sleeping. A little gift to keep me motivated.
"How long do I have?" I'm surprised I haven't shot him yet. The girl - Amy - is looking at him with such disgust I don't need to waste the bullet.
"Enough time to get us all out of here." They're both still sitting on the floor like bad puppies. He looks at his hands. Soft hands. Doctor hands.
Could come in handy.
"Do you have a med kit?" I ask him. He perks up and points to the box with the red cross on it above the bed. "Is the antidote in there?"
His hand drops. "Something else we'll have to pick up, I'm afraid."
I sigh and shake my head. "Great fucking plan."