11
Leon sat at the back of the car; Claire and Chris were up in front. The journey out of the club was, thankfully, quick and easy. Freddy kept his promise and didn't pursue the trio. He was one thing, but he always kept his promises. That was his best, and only, quality; the rest of him was shit.
Their arsenal laid next to Leon inside the boxes, the metal scraped against metal a few times as Chris turned around some corners. They sat in the car in silence. Claire felt guilty, she was being a cow towards Chris when he only wanted to help and look out for her. She glanced at him and then back out of the window.
"It's ok," he said softly, already knowing what was wrong, "I can be a little too pushy sometimes."
He glanced down and smiled, she returned one to him and began to feel at ease, "I'll be fine Chris; I just need some time before I can say or explain anything to you."
He reached for her hand and squeezed gently, "I understand."
He turned the car into the underground parking lot. Leon grabbed the boxes and slid his way out of the seat, "Can't wait to see my babies," he said peeping into one of the boxes.
Claire rolled her eyes back and got out. Chris turned the ignition off and got out too. They walked out into the afternoon's glare towards the apartments.
Leon placed the two boxes on the kitchen table and fished the items out. Two M79 G. Launchers complete with 40mm of flame, acid and the normal grenade rounds. A XM1014 shotgun with eight packs of 12 gauge shells. Double 38-caliber submachine guns Ingram with obscene amounts of DOT380 ammo. Chris got his Magnum and his 357 magnum rounds. Claire picked up the double wrist sheaths complete with fours knives. Leon picked up the Desert Eagle .50AE and clips filled with .50AE bullets. Apart from the C4, they got six H.E grenades; they resembled the size of a Coke tin. However these were a tad narrower and longer than the can. It's pin dangling at its side.
One pull and bye bye Leon.
They weren't sure if the amount of weaponry they had was enough or not enough. You never knew with Umbrella, one second you're doing fine and then the next you're confronted by zombies, Cerberus, Hunters, Bandersnatches and anything that isn't part of the nature. Leon shuddered, he hates zombies so much, but he was reassured by the amount of ammunition lying on the table.
Claire sat on the edge of her bed; she laid the wrist sheaths on her bedside table. They were cute little things, undetectable under any long sleeved top. The black leather was eight centimetres long. It had two pouches for the knives, one at the back and front of the wristband. Velcro fastened the material together.
One size does fit all.
She pulled one apart and laid it flat on her mattress. The knives peered through the top of the leather; most people wouldn't notice that it was a sheath for a weapon, but a fashion accessory.
It was the perfect article for covering up her light scars too.
She pulled one of the four knives out and examined it; the reflection of the sun from her window bounced off the metal. Its metallic shimmer rested on her face. The knife was around seven centimetres, it looked more like a flattened out arrow than a miniature dagger. It was a great asset when confronted by a difficult situation. But it was also a disadvantage since to use the weapon affectively you would have to be close up to the enemy. With a zombie this was a huge no no, but she thought it would be like using the combat knife.
She rested the sheaths on the table and rested her head; she curled her body in a small ball and closed her eyes.
"You alright?"
She opened her eyes slightly, "Yeah," she whispered.
He sat down next to her and sighed, "Don't lie to me Claire I know you too well."
She laughed quietly, "You only 'know' me too well because you're a figment of my twisted imagination."
His hand lay gently on top of her head, he played with her brunette hair as if it was a normal thing to do, "I might not be real," he whispered, "but I'm very real in your mind."
Claire opened her eyes fully; she only saw a leg, a leg that wore khaki trousers. She couldn't really visualise him in anything else other than the clothes he died in. And blue jeans for some reason.
She could hear his faint breathing, it was real, and she knew it was. She peered up and caught the yellow of his shirt rising and falling. She moved her hand out, just a little, to touch him. The material of his trousers was rough, but warm. It was nice to have him close.
"I haven't taken my medication today," she said, trying desperately to draw her longing away from him, "Maybe that's why I'm seeing you."
She sat up quickly, he was upsetting her, and she almost hated him for doing that. His hand dropped to her side, she watched it unable to regain her control. She badly wanted to pick it up and kiss it. Her back was to him, which was a relief; if she were to look into his face she would have a break down. She wanted to but she restrained herself. He wasn't there!
"Claire why don't you look at me?" he said.
She shook her head not able to speak.
"Why?" he simply asked.
"Because you're dead!" she snapped, "You're not alive! You died in my arms damnit!" the tears were pulling from her eyes, she forbade them to run.
Claire quickly grabbed the handle of the drawer and pulled with all her might, she needed the pills now! She gripped the small round bottle and pulled forcing the tape to break away. Her hands were trembling; her heart was about to explode if she didn't receive her medication at once.
She twisted the cap unable to open it, she was frantic and out of control.
His hand touched hers; she calmed down slightly gazing at the strange hand that laid lightly over hers. He took the bottle away and twisted the cap, "If you really want me to go then take one." He tipped the bottle until one white pill fell onto his palm, "Here."
She stared at the pill and took it from him; she watched it in her palm figuring out what to do next, "It kills me Steve," she said softly, "When you're not here. I feel guilty that you died and I survived." She picked up the tablet and replaced it back into the bottle.
She turned to him, "I don't want you to go."
His blue-green gems sparkled, "You shouldn't feel guilty for living Claire." He took her into his arms and laid her head on his chest. She wrapped her arms around him; this was worth more than regaining her sanity back. Just for a moment of peace and happiness.
"I know, but I can't help what I feel."
"Sooner or later you have to let go."
She didn't like that, she didn't want to let go not now and not ever, "Is this my subconscious telling me to forget about you?"
He smiled and hugged her closer, "No, not to forget but to move on. You'll have the memory of me forever."
The sound of his heart thudded against her ear, his heartbeat was strong. Was it Steve or herself telling her these things? She wasn't sure, but she was only a moment before.
"Claire I'm a mixture of you and me. To deal with the pain you see me," he said answering her unspoken question.
He picked up her hand, brushing his lips over the scar; his soft lips eased the ache under the flesh. He passed it close to his cheek and sighed. The faint flutter of his eyelashes tickled her skin, "I love you Claire."
She sat up and glanced behind. She saw no Steve.
It did hurt her.
She stared at the bottle standing on the table. Picking it up she replaced it in her drawer.
She wasn't going to take it today.
Leon sat at the back of the car; Claire and Chris were up in front. The journey out of the club was, thankfully, quick and easy. Freddy kept his promise and didn't pursue the trio. He was one thing, but he always kept his promises. That was his best, and only, quality; the rest of him was shit.
Their arsenal laid next to Leon inside the boxes, the metal scraped against metal a few times as Chris turned around some corners. They sat in the car in silence. Claire felt guilty, she was being a cow towards Chris when he only wanted to help and look out for her. She glanced at him and then back out of the window.
"It's ok," he said softly, already knowing what was wrong, "I can be a little too pushy sometimes."
He glanced down and smiled, she returned one to him and began to feel at ease, "I'll be fine Chris; I just need some time before I can say or explain anything to you."
He reached for her hand and squeezed gently, "I understand."
He turned the car into the underground parking lot. Leon grabbed the boxes and slid his way out of the seat, "Can't wait to see my babies," he said peeping into one of the boxes.
Claire rolled her eyes back and got out. Chris turned the ignition off and got out too. They walked out into the afternoon's glare towards the apartments.
Leon placed the two boxes on the kitchen table and fished the items out. Two M79 G. Launchers complete with 40mm of flame, acid and the normal grenade rounds. A XM1014 shotgun with eight packs of 12 gauge shells. Double 38-caliber submachine guns Ingram with obscene amounts of DOT380 ammo. Chris got his Magnum and his 357 magnum rounds. Claire picked up the double wrist sheaths complete with fours knives. Leon picked up the Desert Eagle .50AE and clips filled with .50AE bullets. Apart from the C4, they got six H.E grenades; they resembled the size of a Coke tin. However these were a tad narrower and longer than the can. It's pin dangling at its side.
One pull and bye bye Leon.
They weren't sure if the amount of weaponry they had was enough or not enough. You never knew with Umbrella, one second you're doing fine and then the next you're confronted by zombies, Cerberus, Hunters, Bandersnatches and anything that isn't part of the nature. Leon shuddered, he hates zombies so much, but he was reassured by the amount of ammunition lying on the table.
Claire sat on the edge of her bed; she laid the wrist sheaths on her bedside table. They were cute little things, undetectable under any long sleeved top. The black leather was eight centimetres long. It had two pouches for the knives, one at the back and front of the wristband. Velcro fastened the material together.
One size does fit all.
She pulled one apart and laid it flat on her mattress. The knives peered through the top of the leather; most people wouldn't notice that it was a sheath for a weapon, but a fashion accessory.
It was the perfect article for covering up her light scars too.
She pulled one of the four knives out and examined it; the reflection of the sun from her window bounced off the metal. Its metallic shimmer rested on her face. The knife was around seven centimetres, it looked more like a flattened out arrow than a miniature dagger. It was a great asset when confronted by a difficult situation. But it was also a disadvantage since to use the weapon affectively you would have to be close up to the enemy. With a zombie this was a huge no no, but she thought it would be like using the combat knife.
She rested the sheaths on the table and rested her head; she curled her body in a small ball and closed her eyes.
"You alright?"
She opened her eyes slightly, "Yeah," she whispered.
He sat down next to her and sighed, "Don't lie to me Claire I know you too well."
She laughed quietly, "You only 'know' me too well because you're a figment of my twisted imagination."
His hand lay gently on top of her head, he played with her brunette hair as if it was a normal thing to do, "I might not be real," he whispered, "but I'm very real in your mind."
Claire opened her eyes fully; she only saw a leg, a leg that wore khaki trousers. She couldn't really visualise him in anything else other than the clothes he died in. And blue jeans for some reason.
She could hear his faint breathing, it was real, and she knew it was. She peered up and caught the yellow of his shirt rising and falling. She moved her hand out, just a little, to touch him. The material of his trousers was rough, but warm. It was nice to have him close.
"I haven't taken my medication today," she said, trying desperately to draw her longing away from him, "Maybe that's why I'm seeing you."
She sat up quickly, he was upsetting her, and she almost hated him for doing that. His hand dropped to her side, she watched it unable to regain her control. She badly wanted to pick it up and kiss it. Her back was to him, which was a relief; if she were to look into his face she would have a break down. She wanted to but she restrained herself. He wasn't there!
"Claire why don't you look at me?" he said.
She shook her head not able to speak.
"Why?" he simply asked.
"Because you're dead!" she snapped, "You're not alive! You died in my arms damnit!" the tears were pulling from her eyes, she forbade them to run.
Claire quickly grabbed the handle of the drawer and pulled with all her might, she needed the pills now! She gripped the small round bottle and pulled forcing the tape to break away. Her hands were trembling; her heart was about to explode if she didn't receive her medication at once.
She twisted the cap unable to open it, she was frantic and out of control.
His hand touched hers; she calmed down slightly gazing at the strange hand that laid lightly over hers. He took the bottle away and twisted the cap, "If you really want me to go then take one." He tipped the bottle until one white pill fell onto his palm, "Here."
She stared at the pill and took it from him; she watched it in her palm figuring out what to do next, "It kills me Steve," she said softly, "When you're not here. I feel guilty that you died and I survived." She picked up the tablet and replaced it back into the bottle.
She turned to him, "I don't want you to go."
His blue-green gems sparkled, "You shouldn't feel guilty for living Claire." He took her into his arms and laid her head on his chest. She wrapped her arms around him; this was worth more than regaining her sanity back. Just for a moment of peace and happiness.
"I know, but I can't help what I feel."
"Sooner or later you have to let go."
She didn't like that, she didn't want to let go not now and not ever, "Is this my subconscious telling me to forget about you?"
He smiled and hugged her closer, "No, not to forget but to move on. You'll have the memory of me forever."
The sound of his heart thudded against her ear, his heartbeat was strong. Was it Steve or herself telling her these things? She wasn't sure, but she was only a moment before.
"Claire I'm a mixture of you and me. To deal with the pain you see me," he said answering her unspoken question.
He picked up her hand, brushing his lips over the scar; his soft lips eased the ache under the flesh. He passed it close to his cheek and sighed. The faint flutter of his eyelashes tickled her skin, "I love you Claire."
She sat up and glanced behind. She saw no Steve.
It did hurt her.
She stared at the bottle standing on the table. Picking it up she replaced it in her drawer.
She wasn't going to take it today.