Village

Part One:

-Tall Tales-

Chapter 3: Deja Vu

The crunch of tires on twigs and rock was a familiar sound to a tired set of ears. In the passenger seat, Leon shifted against the cold cloth trying to get comfortable. It had been a long drive from the wide stretch of road that had qualified as an airport in these parts. His contact wasn't exactly a rousing conversationalist either. He was some kind of ex-agent or something from god knew which branch of the government.

The accent sounded Slavic, so he was possibly Russian, but the ability to find out was a waste of time. Ada didn't hire or work with the kind of people who enjoyed talking. So, they rode in silence as he escorted Leon to the village. The hum familiarity felt ever present from the moment they'd landed near the long, seemingly endless forest.

The last time he'd landed in the middle of nowhere, he'd spent two days fighting for his life. Would this be any less demanding? He wasn't a twenty seven year old hotshot anymore. He'd survived things that would have made normal men give up and lay down to die. Did he leave this village a hero once more?

Or was this the place he'd finally come to lay down his sword?

The last time he'd had nothing to lose. Ashley Graham had been a good girl and worth the fight but she'd been the job. She was the mission. This time? It was personal. What waited in that village was what was left of his world. He'd use every skill they taught him to bring her home.

The little jalopy came to a stop at the edge of a small bridge. The ring of familiarity echoed in Leon's head again as he alighted from the far door. The man in the seat, all six foot four and two hundred pounds of him, informed him coolly, "They will never help you. What happens here...is between you and your soul."

They held eyes before Leon replied, "Then I guess I'm fucked...because I sold that a long time ago."

He closed the door on that dire warning and rose as the car circled through the trees and rode away. The bridge was little more than twine and planks. It stretched over a sad excuse for a river and a steep drop into nowhere. The cold tickled his nose as he walked.

The chilly air worked like a charm to heighten his awareness. He could see between trees and falling leaves toward the edge of the village. It sat sadly, forlorn and derelict, at the base of a massive castle. The gothic style was evident here in the Carpathian Mountains. The ogival arches and peaked roofs reached up into the steely gray sky like fingers from a grave.

He froze, brows arched at the imagery. Fingers from a grave? Did he see the village as a mass grave? He did. He wasn't sure why, but something told him there was little left to save down in the dilapidated patched roofs and failing stone walls. Evidence of poverty pervaded everywhere the eye could see. It was in the roads gone rutted with lack of repair. It was in the sagging scarecrows in fields turned brown with neglect. It was in the down turned faces of the poor as they moved through the narrow alleys between buildings pedaling their wares of making their way to the small church at the edge of the village.

Leon's hand itched to grip the pistol tucked safely under his coat against his chest. He'd left it unbuttoned enough to draw down without interruption, but the impulse was checked before he did it. So far, no one had offered violence as he crossed through the large village. He wore the gray tweed standing collar coat Claire had given him for Christmas over a thick Irish fishermen's sweater in oatmeal. Beneath that, a kevlar vest served as a shield between his white clad skin and death. Maybe he'd never really learned his lesson about coming in better armed to potentially dangerous situations, but he'd learned it pretty well regarding body armor.

The second gun on his ankle was the only concession they'd allowed him at the airport. He'd wanted something heavier, but apparently you were lucky to be able to carry anything at all in the village. They let him pass because Ada's agent had pulled some strings for him. However, having an assault rifle was simply out of the question. So, he had a 9mm at his ankle beneath his jeans and his Magnum tucked nicely inside his coat.

A lance of deja vu hit for the eighteenth time as he halted at the edge of an open barn and called quietly to the man hauling hay within it. Leon was careful to use the Transylvanian dialect of Romanian to attempt to put the man at ease. The man turned, looking tired and pale. He furrowed his brow at the picture of Natalia that Leon showed him.

He licked his lips and spoke only one word, "...Zana."

Leon shook his head, feeling a shiver at his spine. "...what does that mean? She's here?"

The man backed up, blinking rapidly. He glanced over and spotted the edge of the holster peaking out of Leon's jacket. His eyes flared with his nostrils. He blew out a fast breath.

Leon, attempting to salvage the exchange, soothed, "It's ok. I'm not here for you. I'm looking for my daughter."

The man pointed at him and cursed, "...incubus."

Well, he might not know what Zana was, but he knew that one. An incubus was a demon in male form sent to suck the souls from sleeping innocents. Leon felt a tremor of concern at the look on the man's face. "...no. No, I'm not here to cause any trouble. Have you seen this woman?"

"...no. Zana...no." The man whistled, "...incubus! INCUBUS!"

And just like that, Leon knew he wasn't welcome anymore. He resisted the urge still to draw his gun. If he was lucky, there was a way out of this without violence. These people weren't fighters, they were warriors; they were just looking for someone to blame for their pathetic lot in life. Clearly, Alex Wasker was their fairy godmother or something. He was looking for her. He was a stranger. He was a threat. They were damned sure not going to let him get close to her.

Damn them all. Let them try. He'd fight bare handed like Chris Redfield through this village if it meant he'd get to Gigi.

The first person through the barn door gave him a wide eyed look. It was a woman, pretty, with dark hair drawn back in a braid that trailed over one shoulder. She volleyed her gaze over his face and licked her lips. He wasn't entirely sure he was just looking for hope here, but it seemed like she flicked her gaze to the far wall to his right. Leon turned his attention, briefly, and found an open window there.

Yeah, no coincidence there at all. She was giving him a chance to run. She put her hand on the man's arm and soothed him while the rest of the villagers started to assemble at the bar door. Leon backed up until the window was close to his right.

"It doesn't have to go down this way. I don't have anything against any of you here..." A few started toward him with pitchforks. He shook his head, still desperate to keep the peace, "Please...I just want my daughter."

The pretty girl tilted her head at him. She worried her lips again and flicked her gaze at the window. Definitely offering him an escape route this time. Leon blew out a breath as two men aimed the pitchforks at him and kept coming.

He sighed and told them, "Ok...the hard way then."

They started running at him.

He dove out the window beside him with a clattering of shattering glass. He rolled as he hit the ground and found his feet easily. The short bump to the ground drove adrenaline into his guts with the fire of the fight.

He didn't draw the gun in his coat. They weren't there yet. He didn't want to kill anyone. He didn't really think these people were thinking clearly. He didn't want to escalate things.

He would, but he was hoping like hell it wouldn't come to that.

Leon hit the town square and called, "Stop! Listen! Last chance!"

One swung a pitchfork at him and Leon divested him of the weapon by simply ducking under the blow, sweeping up his wrists, and knocking the heavy weapon from his hands. It clattered on the ground, Leon swooped down to grab it, and he slapped the man upside the head to send him to his back in the mud. Out like a light, yes, but still alive.

The next one locked tines in a semblance of sword fight. The metal sang, Leon jerked roughly, and the dual was over in a moment. The other man staggered, Leon kicked him square in the crotch, and he went down howling in pain. A sharp jerk of the arms and he was slapped in the face with the pitchfork handle and put down beside his failed comrade.

Not fighters, nope, not even close. This town was simply farmers. They were trying like hell to stop him. Why? Why did they think he was an incubus? Had Alex warned them about him?

Likely. It was the only option. It was the only thing that made sen-

The roar drew his gaze up to the roof above him. He'd seen plenty in his time. He'd survived enough to never feel a moment of shock, but it didn't stop the blank to his brain that happened when Barry Burton came running over the roof above him looking grizzled and gray.

Leon shouted, "Burton!?"

Barry leaped off the roof and pulled something out thin air that looked like a cudgel the size of a man. Leon dove on instinct more than skill. He rolled, the goddamn thing struck the ground like a hammer of the gods, and he nearly lost his head. He backed up, and his gun was finally in his hands, as he shouted, "STOP!"

Barry twitched. His eyes flickered. His grizzled beard looked pathetic on a gray pallor. He dragged the cudgel on the ground like Pyramid Head or something. His huge arms bulged with muscle in the flannel red shirt he wore.

Leon tried once more, "...don't do it."

And Barry swung that damn cudgel. It whooshed, Leon shot him twice in the chest while it missed his nose by an inch, and Barry was blown backward off his feet to smear through the mud in a gush of blood. The villagers all froze, unwilling now to rush the man who'd executed their leader.

The rain drizzled down now, wet and frigid. Leon turned the gun on the huddled masses, "Alright, you assholes, start fucking talking! WHERE IS SHE!?" His shout echoed through the mountains, startling the pretty girl in the green dress.

She flicked her gaze at the castle behind him. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to seperate her from the pack and get answers. She wanted to help him, clearly. Was she a BSAA plant in the village? Hadn't Ada said Blue Umbrella had agents still under cover?

Leon started to call out to her and Barry spasmed on the ground. His body jerked, flopping like a landed fish. Leon turned the gun back on him and Burton simply leaped up in the air so high it was like he had springs in his haunches.

He was airborne and came down on the roof above them, Leon's gun went off, and the bullet hit the meat of that body and made him roar. His face had elongated into some kind of muzzle, his hands had erupted into claws like a wolfman or something. He garbled out english from his mutated face, "Fool...there will be no mercy for you. Come see the gifts she gives."

He leaped again, the Magnum blasted him out of the air, and he came down anyway in a gush of blood. He landed behind Leon, who spun and whipped his leg around in a beautiful kick, for all the good it would do. Barry's mutated form caught his leg, lifted, and threw him like he wasn't a full grown man made of muscle. He threw him into the wall of the barn and it exploded around him, raining rotted wood and shrapnel down as Leon hit the ground and rolled.

He rolled to his back and didn't get the shot off as one of those clawed hands encircled his throat and lifted him off the ground. He gagged, choking as he dangled, angling the gun into the other man's sternum. Leon grunted as his vision went red and he wedged his weapon into the other man's breastbone.

Barry Burton the ginger wolfman was going to choke him to death. His arms were covered in fine red fur. His beard was red and gray fur. Fur, fur, fur and somehow soft even as it was pervasive. Leon's vision went red and white, scaring him, and his finger found the trigger against that massive chest.

He started to pull and a voice shouted, "LEON!"

And Barry threw him again. The gun went off and hit the hay beneath them with an echo of sound, Leon hit the back side of the barn this time and didn't go through, his back took the brunt of the hit but his head got the worst. He slid down, head spinning, and boots appeared on the ground beside him. Leon grabbed for his gun, two inches to his right, and a voice advised, "Don't. Jesus. Don't."

Burton, but just Burton this time, he knelt and gripped Leon's wrist with a warning, "...stay down...fuck...just stay down."

He was human again.

How?

How in the hell?

He'd never encountered a virus that could revert once it started mutating. It was unheard of in their world. He knew the plagas had some properties of control and Arias had found a way to command through viral replication, but reversion? It wasn't possible.

It was evident. Barry Burton's face flashed human as he looked at Leon sadly, "...I'm so damn sorry, Kennedy."

And the darkness won the fight. Leon went down wishing he'd brought the assault rifle anyway. Apparently, he still hadn't learned his lesson. When in doubt, guns...guns..guns.

The warmth was the first thing he remembered. It was soft and close to his skin like a kiss. Then it was a kiss - a sweet one on his forehead.

He let his eyes drift open. The village was prosperous and rich with life. The trees bloomed and the beautiful roads were ripe with care. He could see laughing children running through the open spaces and hiding while their parents looked on with joy. Birds chirped happily in branches laden with lush green leaves.

His hand was happily clasped in hers. She leaned her head against his arm and sighed, "It's so beautiful here. Peaceful. We can just...rest, ya know?"

He nodded and kissed her forehead in return. She smelled like apples. Her lips lifted and laid against his, gentle, sweet. Sweet like the little girl cuddled in her lap sleeping. Leon inhaled the crisp clean air and knew a kind of happiness that he hadn't felt in so long. Here, with Claire, in this perfect and peaceful village...he was finally free.

She rose, guiding him to his feet as they started walking through the pretty little village. A dog barked playfully and spun in circles at the edge of the inviting forest. Gigi giggled in her mother's arms.

In the center of the village, an enormous tree rose toward the sky like a lightning strike. It draped shade and pretty dappled shadows around their feet as they gathered at the base. In the ground, a square shaped ditch waited for them.

Claire gestured to it and smiled at him, "It's so peaceful, ya know? We can finally rest."

She eased down into the ditch with Gigi in her arms. The little girl grinned up at him. Claire told him as the sun gilded her face, "...free."

Free.

The chirping song of the bird became a garbled caw. He shook his head, denying it. A crow streaked over the sun and sounded his warning. The crow didn't belong here. The crow made no sense in the peace of it.

Claire told him, "Aren't you tired, Leon? We can rest here."

It wasn't a ditch. It was a grave. It was a grave at the base of the tree. A grave in the pretty village. The world warped in a skittering of sound and a flash of light. He grabbed the trunk of the tree and staggered as it died beneath his touch. The branches gnarled and the vines withered. The rotting started beneath the palm of his hand like he'd cursed it with his very flesh.

He shook his head, "...no."

Claire invited, "Give up, Leon...and be happy."

He pointed at her and begged, "...don't, Claire. Don't leave me."

She simply smiled, "...give up, Leon...and be free."

The village was rotting around him. It was now gray and depressing. It was thick with loss and regret. People wept in the street over bodies piled upon each other in death. A sickness had spread like a plague amongst the masses. The buildings were collapsing. The forest was stripped and sad - dying, defying the regrowth of a long spring. It tricked dead leaves to the ground in a final farewell.

The dog woofed once and fell to the ground. It jerked, moaning in pain. He backed up and the hand that touched the tree flicked out like it would block that dog. He whispered, "...Claire."

She returned, lying in the deep, dark Earth, "...we're waiting for you."

The dog was a wolfman now. It rose from the ground in a shimmer of pretty gold fur. The face was a muzzled filled a thousand dripping teeth. It's hugely muscled torso showed fingers gone long with claws. It dragged those arms on the ground like an ape as it stalked him.

He could climb in that grave and be free...or he could run. He backed up...and ran.

The wolfman chased him over the deadened ground. It roared, fast, faster, trumpeting the mountains with a blood thirsty rage. It tossed it's shaggy head and flashed ice blue eyes filled with hunger.

Leon shot it with his hand turned into a gun. It halted near the grave an had him shouting, "NO! NOT THEM! ME! COME FOR ME!"

And the wolfman garbled out in a low tone, "...it's so peaceful here...give up, Leon...and be happy."

He spat, "...never."

It came at him, thundering over the distance with a hunter's grace. It was somehow fascinating to watch. Leon braced himself to fight back. It warned him, "...aren't you tired, Leon? You can rest here."

It hit him broadside and sent him skidding over the Earth. The claws on its hands ripped into his chest. He screamed, high and loud, scrambling to grab for the gun he'd lost somewhere on the ground. It promised, leering above him, "...we're waiting for you."

He wedged the gun against its drooling jaws. It drove its fangs down at his face. He could pull the trigger and blow it away.

But he was so tired. He was so, so tired. He just wanted..to rest.

He whispered, "Claire..."

The gun bumped on the ground as the world ran red with blood.

The hand on his mouth had him gasping. He was bound in the chair and cold. His eyes flickered as a voice commanded, "...don't scream again."

Had he?

The voice was American and close to his ear. He tilted his eyes up and found the pretty dark haired girl in the green dress beside him. She let her lips brush the shell of his ear as she hissed, "You want them to come running? Stay quiet...please."

He simply nodded.

The ties on his wrists snapped softly. He lowered his tired arms and she whispered, "...I can't believe he spared you...I thought-I was sure he was too far gone. He's been in that place for months with her. I was convinced he was lost."

She gave Leon a considering look, "He remembered you the moment I shouted your name."

Who was she? How did she know him? In answer to that, she told him, "I'm Emily Winters."

Of course. Of course she was. Ethan's sister. He knew that Ethan's sister was the reason Chris had found them in Louisiana in time to save them. She'd been part of the BSAA for some time it seemed. Ethan's one phone call to her husband on the morning of his disappearance had prompted her swift response.

They'd known about the Bakers for some time before Mia had called out to her husband under Eveline's influence. The man power that had gone into keeping the shipwreck and the out lying areas concealed from public knowledge had been massive. Blue Umbrella, desperate to shield E-001, had stopped at nothing to bury the truth. Because, the truth was a web of lies and deceit that ended in a huge tanker in the middle of the bayou unnoticed by anyone for years. It was impossible.

It was easy enough to conceal with money. They'd known what was happening on that farm and let it. They'd been studying Eveline. The second Ethan had shown up and started shaking things loose, Blue Umbrella had dispatched Chris and his team there to seal the leak. Apparently, the moment they knew the BSAA was bound to get involved, Blue Umbrella had simply gotten there first. Proof, of course, that you could never, ever, trust Umbrella.

But Ada had told him that E-002 was supposedly protected within this village. Was Emily here as a guard turned fugitive? Was that her punishment for exposing Blue Umbrella's mess in the bayou? The Bakers and all their victims had been nothing but test subjects for the powers of Eveline. Was this village a testing ground for her successor?

Was Alex Wesker using this village to control her? Or was she controlling Alex?

Too many questions. No time for answers. Right now, all he cared about was getting to Gigi before she joined her mother in that grave. Claire, always a fighter, had given up so easily in that dream. Was it his subconscious telling him he was too tired to keep fighting? Was it suggesting he just lay down and die?

He wasn't built that way. He absolutely would not stop until Gigi was safe again. He'd rather fist fight a wolfman...or a boulder than just give up and let them win.

Beside him, Emily whispered again, "They'll be time for questions, but not now. Now we have to move. Now we have hours until sunrise to get out of this village. I need to know if I can trust you to do exactly as I say."

He gave her a cool look and whispered, "...following a lady's lead usually isn't my style."

She sighed, "You want to get into that castle? You want to find your daughter?"

He said nothing but she answered for him, "So cramp your style a little and try things my way. Your way nearly got you killed."

"You don't even know me...why should I trust you?"

"Maybe you shouldn't, but you got a better plan?"

"Maybe you're a lying bitch leading me to my own death. Maybe I should kill you and raid the castle myself."

She eased toward the edge of the barn and instructed him, "Your choice, but I know what you did for Chris Redfield in New York. He saved my brother's life...I'm doing this for him."

Great. Saved indirectly by Redfield. He'd never live it down. If, by chance, he survived this shit Redfield was going to lord it over him for the rest of their days.

He sighed and whispered, "What about my guns?"

She shook her head, "Gone. You've got your fists and wits...I hope they're better than your detective skills."

He blinked. She was implying he'd brought this on himself in that village. Maybe he had. He'd been careless, reckless almost, walking into town without a care or a worry. He'd been stupid and eager to find his daughter. He'd let emotion out weigh sense.

It was a rookie mistake, but then...under it all, wasn't he still somehow that rookie in a dying city? Had he ever really changed? After all, wasn't he chasing the ghost of the girl who'd saved his life that night?

Aren't you tired, Leon?

Her voice echoed in his head. He was. He was tired.

He was also no longer that rookie. He was a living legend. A bad ass. An institution. He was wits and fists and fight. He'd do it all, without a goddamn gun if that's what it took.

Emily nodded at him like she'd read his mind, "Good. Follow me. When I say hide, you hide. Agreed?"

He was also, it seemed, now Ashley Graham. He pictured himself leaping into a dumpster and almost laughed. The story of his life had somehow made him the damsel in distress.

With little option, he followed the leader out into the waiting dark.