Very few professions were known to handle explosives outside of the U.S. Military. Some of the careers that operated under those risks were firefighters, hazardous materials removal workers, supervisors of construction and extraction workers, structural iron and steel workers and a few others. Each of those professions would deal with explosives on different levels and subsequently needed different types of training based around the explosive type.
EMS triage for explosives found around the aforementioned professions was a little different than a normal triage setting for trauma. High Order Explosives such as TNT, C-4, Semtex, Nitroglycerin, Dynamite, and Ammonium Nitrate were among the most fatal when standing in enclosed spaces and in a proximal range. The supersonic over-pressurization shock waves could cause ear injuries, abdominal injuries, brain injuries but also pulmonary injuries.
"Blast Lung" was one of the most common injuries and the onset was either quick or occurred over the duration of a few hours.
All of this information was flaring forth in Claire Redfield's mind while the beam of the flashlight was shaking in her grip and the wails of Kevin Ryman filtered in from the hall behind her.
The ever-growing fear was transforming the sight and smell of the damaged room to a curling hand of the dark and Claire took the extra few seconds to prepare herself for the inevitable outcomes. Soon, she lowered the beam of light to take in the full scope of the scene before her.
Someone in the hallway silenced the ringing metal of the fire alarm and before long, the newfound silence of their situation was a steady descent into action.
The sight below her made the bag on her shoulder feel more useless than it had in her entire history serving with the Raccoon City Fire Department.
What was left of the man—David Ford—had been blown outward in multiple different directions and the evidence of it was a forbidden painting of human remains.
Not allowing herself to look too closely at the damage, Claire swallowed thickly and turned her eyes toward the last violation of the room.
The body of Marvin Branagh lay before her still intact, and the charred remnants of his uniform told her enough of what she could expect for internal injuries. What she hadn't expected was his chest to move and the sounds of his struggling breaths while he lay on his back.
"Marvin," she uttered, dropping the heavy trauma bag beside her while she fell into a crouch. With the flashlight held higher above his head, Claire took in the ruins of his skin.
Marvin had to have been somewhere near six feet from the blast range. The burns resided mostly to the lower portions of his legs, and it told Claire enough to know the bomb had been set low. The burns on his skin were only partial, but he would be susceptible to infection in a few hours' time if he made it long enough. Scrapes and lacerations to his arms were accompanied by pieces of wood and glass that had been blown back at him from the furniture in the room.
The rest of his uniform had been punctured in different places by the debris, however, as far as life threatening injuries went, Claire suspected the biggest challenges would be internal.
All in all, the lieutenant was in rough shape, and it would take a careful level of planning to even maintain his life if that was the overall intention.
"There isn't any hospital to transport to," Claire thought with a hard swallow.
With her decision made, Claire was no longer hesitating when her hands began to move.
Taking her eyes from the lieutenant, she began to rip open the bag beside her the best she could while still keeping a hold of the flashlight.
Firefighters and EMTs followed the ABCs of care. Airway, Breathing, and Circulation. The fact that Marvin was breathing was a miracle in itself, but it wasn't full, adequate breaths.
Voices in the hall were rising over Kevin's quieting wails and Claire thought she could hear Leon talking to him softly now.
The scuffling of boots had her glancing up to the destroyed doorway to see Wes' head peer into the threshold. It only took seconds for Wes' pallor to turn white from what her beam of light revealed in front of her. The hall light illuminating the left side of Wes' face jolted Claire's brain back into motion.
"Eyes down," Claire barked, her voice strengthened while she remembered her full role.
"Control the scene, Redfield," Briggs' voice was strong in her head once more. "Eyes open. Your emergency is more than the one before you. Don't let it get away from you."
When Wes' immediately followed the order, she continued, "Get me Dr. Hamilton. He needs to treat Leon and Kevin out of the hall, and I need someone to keep people from looking in here."
"Is Marvin—" Wes began to ask.
"Drucker," Claire was turning back to her equipment, yanking the stethoscope out of the bag, and shoving the pieces into her ears. "I need you to focus, alright? We have three men down and I need someone in charge."
"I got you, Redfield," Detective Elliot's voice came from behind Wes. Claire glanced up and saw the hard-faced detective showing his mettle when he pulled Wes away from the door and started giving orders to whomever else was filtering into the hall.
"What else do you need right now?" Detective Elliot's voice called to her while he remained by the door and acted as the guardian he didn't know she needed at the moment.
Claire glanced down again at Marvin, and the injury list was popping up like beacons for the upside-down triage in her head. Marvin's breaths were chaotic while the airflow released from his lips in a high wheeze before they would pause and resume again.
"Stand by," she answered softly toward the detective.
Pressing her stethoscope to the ruined planes of Marvin's chest, she listened while her other hand wrapped around Marvin's wrist and took stock of his heart rate that was too fast. The sounds she found in Marvin's chest were indicative of her fears for Blast Lung damage and she found a diminished sound on the right side of his chest.
Marvin's right lung had either collapsed or had been punctured and the air would continue to fill his chest cavity where it didn't belong.
The injury was due to the blast wave's impact upon the lung and could result in tearing, hemorrhage, contusion, or edema. All of which was characterized by respiratory difficulty and would soon suffocate his entire body of oxygen regardless.
Dr. Hamilton's arrival was announced by the voice he added to the chorus in the hall. Soon, his tenor was the only one Claire could hear while he gave commands that were fitting of a surgeon in his element.
"Back up, give them space," Dr. Hamilton ordered somewhere in the hall. "Mark, stay here, I'll need your help to move them in a minute. The rest of you, back out toward the hallway."
"Elliot," Claire uttered while she applied supraorbital pressure to Marvin's face. Manual stimulation of the supraorbital nerve was a simple press of a thumb into the indentation above the eye and would indicate a localization to pain on Marvin's part. "Come here."
When Marvin didn't react to the pain, it was a silent indicator to his level of unconsciousness and further added to his deteriorating state. Claire would need to treat the air in his chest—the pneumothorax, as all signs pointed to his body suffocating otherwise.
Detective Elliot stopped beside her while she began to take his blood pressure to complete her knowledge on the lieutenant's struggling body. Elliot was silent while he viewed her listening for the returning heartbeat in the pressure cuff. When she finished and picked up the flashlight again, she motioned to Marvin with her elbow.
"Put your hands on either side of his jaw, and gently tilt Marvin's head until his mouth opens. Hold him there and don't move until I tell you." Her voice was becoming stronger and the ticking hands of the clock in her mind became a tempo of training instead of fear.
Detective Elliot would have made an excellent paramedic, and in truth, it may have been a role that haunted him less because when Claire looked up, she could see the steady determination and detachment of a man who had already seen too much in his years working on violent crime cases.
Still, with his hands following her direction, he remained purposeful when he did as she instructed and further opened Marvin's struggling airway.
"What are we going to do?" Elliot asked when Claire shined her light into Marvin's mouth to check for any obstructions from blast damage.
Finding Marvin's airway satisfactory, she turned back to the bag and began pulling out the 18-gauge needle, gloves, tubing, and scissors.
"What I can," she answered simply.
"He needs more than either of you can give him, doesn't he?" Elliot asked, referring to Dr. Hamilton as well.
"I have to," Claire paused for a moment while she connected the oxygen tank to the mask in her hand. "I have to try, Elliot. He needs—he needs a lot but if he's going to die, he's not going to die here in this room. I won't allow him that last insult from the fucker that did this."
"Agreed," Elliot responded with an edge in his own voice. "Here, let me do that." His hand was lifting to take the mask and clasping it over Marvin's face.
"He's got air in his chest, and I need to release it. Can you hold this position?" Claire asked while she moved to clip the flashlight high on Elliot's shoulder.
The result had the light beaming down on Marvin's dark, struggling chest between them both.
"No problem," Elliot responded softly. "I'm your guy."
Claire paused for a moment and looked into the tawny gaze of the detective. Her hand lingered on his shoulder and squeezed. When Elliot met her eyes and gave his own unsteady breath she nodded as if she understood before she began to cut away Marvin's uniform shirt and undershirt.
"Dr. Hamilton! I need a third hand here. Send me someone." Claire called over Elliot's shoulder then.
"You got it, Redfield," the doctor responded after a moment from the hall.
Moving on, Claire was sterilizing Marvin's arm while she prepared the IV as she saw someone else walk into the room from their right.
Katherine Warren's fearful eyes were on hers when she turned her head.
"I know b-basic life support. I had to take it for my lifeguard duties in the summer," Katherine said as a way of explaining her presence from the rest.
Claire allowed a soft, sad smile to grace her features. She lifted a hand to gesture at Elliot before she said, "That's good enough for us. Come here and hold this IV bag. Once we're done, I'm going to need your hands for when we move."
The slender woman was kneeling down at Marvin's side and shakily taking the IV bag with the tubing that had been set up. When one of Elliot's hands closed over hers to stop them from rattling the bag, the young woman was looking up into the older man's face.
"Easy, girl. You'll do fine," he bid quietly with a squeeze. "Listen to Firefighter Redfield." His gaze turned back to Claire's. "What now?"
"Find me a backboard—a door, boards tied together, or an ironing board. We need to get Marvin down to the first floor. Snag some duct tape or something equivalent for his head too. Still need to account for spinal injuries." Claire replied distractedly while she began to sanitize her hands and applied new gloves.
Detective Elliot nodded silently before he directed Katherine to kneel at Marvin's head to keep the mask in place. After he settled the IV bag on her shoulder, clipped the flashlight carefully to her dress, he rose without another word and was out of the room in moments.
When Claire had the IV set up in Marvin's arm, she glanced over at the young woman beside her.
Silent tears were streaming down Katherine's youthful face, but the pinched brows over her eyes spoke to the judicious way she kept focused despite her fear. Katherine continued to hold the mask in place while she studied Marvin's injured body.
Katherine must have felt Claire's eyes because she didn't bother to lift her gaze when she began to speak.
"You saved me," Katherine whispered. "I didn't really get to thank you for that. You knew what he was capable of even then. I had been too afraid to speak up, but some of the things he said to me just weren't right given what was happening."
Katherine was speaking of Chief Irons now and their altercation in the hall when she had first arrived.
"I didn't save you," Claire disagreed while she prepared for needle aspiration in Marvin's chest. "I just reminded you that you had a choice."
Claire glanced up to watch Katherine bite her lips while she nodded and took a deep breath. The noise in the hall had disappeared and Claire assumed that Dr. Hamilton had started the process of moving Leon and Kevin downstairs.
"How do you do this?" Katherine asked next. "Put on a brave face and just find the courage to keep going through each nightmare?"
"You have done nothing more than run toward what scared you the most," Some of Briggs' last words echoed in Claire's mind when her fingers located the 2nd intercostal space in the mid-clavicular line on the right side of Marvin's chest. "You ran toward what you perceived as your failure, and you threw yourself into something that would heal you from the inside out."
Claire held one hand at that position on Marvin's chest while she picked up the 18-gauge catheter needle.
The question should have been easy given that Katherine's history with her only extended to the last few days within the police station. However, Claire's dial was turning further back to the night in December when she laid screaming on her lawn as firefighters surrounded her burning home.
Claire inserted the 18-gauge catheter into Marvin's chest and pierced the skin over the rib below the target interspace. She eased in slowly and waited for the decrease in resistance that would indicate the pleura, the tissue that covers the outside of the lungs and lines the inside of the chest cavity, was punctured. The firefighter medic's head was studying the past while she worked in the present and considered the younger girl's question.
Bathed in the strobing lights of the units, Claire could see her burning childhood home in the mind's eye of 1989. The twisting curl of the flames had reached the attic when Briggs Cheney and his current partner at the time had come up to begin lifting her onto the gurney for transport.
"My mother," she had croaked to them. "My mother! I dropped her! Please, I dropped her! You have to take her first!"
Claire's eyes narrowed in concentration; the dial clicked and moved further along in her head.
She was remembering the men of Fire Station 9 laughing around the table the night Briggs had invited her to stay for dinner when she had visited for the first time after getting out of the hospital. It had been taco night and Briggs had been ribbing someone for bringing non-fat sour cream.
Click. Engineer Tim Sutherland was jumping up and down when 17-year-old Claire released the clutch of the 1986 Ducati 750 F1 Desmo for the first time and didn't stall out. The white teeth of pride poked out from his bushy mustache while he laughed.
Click. The look Chris gave her when he pinned her Fire Academy badge on her chest at the graduation ceremony. Barry and Kathy Burton looked on from over his shoulder, and Barry had given Claire a wink when their eyes met.
Click. Briggs tossed her the keys to Station 12's rig and asked her if she thought she could handle four wheels.
Claire felt the resistance give in Marvin's chest and she paused to pull the needle portion out. The faint sound of hissing air was coming from the tube that now stuck out of Marvin's chest. The fallen lieutenant's chest rise and fall became steadily more adequate.
"I had some really good people who showed me what to do with fear," Claire lifted her eyes as Elliot reentered the room with a makeshift backboard clutched under his arm. "Now, it's my turn to do that for others. I owe them nothing less, Katherine."
The side ponytail Katherine had been keeping her hair in was coming undone as she nodded and seemed to set her own resolve.
Detective Elliot, Claire, and Katherine were all in motion then. By Claire's direction, Katherine made sure to keep her position with the IV bag once the pair had successfully rolled the backboard under Marvin the best they could and lifted him the rest of the way.
The three of them were all careful while they lifted Marvin on the board and maneuvered back out into the hall. Detective Elliot had brought soft restraints to tie Marvin to the board, and also helped in taping Marvin's head down by the middle of his forehead.
It was still a very careful affair to tilt the board while they navigated the stairs up to the third floor and out toward the upper area of the main hall. Despite that, the firefighter medic, the detective, and the mayor's daughter worked in tandem as if they always had and were in step with each other's needs and vocalizations.
Had there been more time, Claire would have praised them endlessly for their devotion.
Some of the fire alarms were still going off in the building when they reached the third-floor balcony.
"They're going to hear that," Claire uttered, referring to the zombies outside while she gripped the tail end of the make-shift backboard tightly.
"One thing at a time," Detective Elliot muttered as he carefully walked backward from his position at the head. His face was turned over his shoulder to see where he was going.
The second set of stairs to make it down onto the second story room of the library had them pausing from the close call of Marvin's body sliding dangerously close to the end of Elliot's side. They adjusted with straining breaths and began the last of the trek toward the main hall landing.
"Do you still have ammunition for your firearm?" Detective Elliot asked, glancing down at the thigh holster Claire still had on.
"Yeah, why?" Claire responded distractedly while she stared at the door. She was eager to get out into the hall and see Leon and Kevin. "Do you think the zombies are going to get through the barricades?"
"Maybe," he said with hesitation before he transferred weight to one hand and reached for the doorknob. "I'm more worried about the fact we still have a murderer running through these halls…and what's going to happen when… Just be ready."
Claire added that stress on top of the already growing void she had going on in her chest. With a twist to the door handle, they were both pushing into the hall.
After the events of the last few days, and now Marvin and David Ford, Claire noted the last remaining survivors of their group. Her eyes were flickering around the room while she and Elliot carefully set Marvin down in front of the statue with the three circular indentations below it.
Claire's eyes landed first on Kevin who was leaning against the east wall while he sat with his knees bent and his face in his hands. Leon was also seated on the ground around the beds with Dr. Hamilton shining a light in his eyes. Leon glanced her way and Claire watched his eyes open a little wider when he beheld Marvin on their backboard.
Mark Wilkins was off to the side with a distraught-looking Liam bouncing in his arms.
The clattering of running steps had Claire turning to view Wes Drucker jogging up to them as they laid Marvin down carefully.
"He needs to be monitored," Claire said softly to both Elliot and Katherine. "I'll have Dr. Hamilton dress his other wounds and keep them clean for now."
"I'll take the first watch," Katherine said with a determined look in her eyes. The young woman plopped down next to Marvin and scooted the oxygen canister closer so that it was out of the walkway.
Dr. Hamilton was standing to his feet and followed Leon's gaze over his shoulder. The doctor's sharp eyes met Claire's before his brows lifted in a question.
What did you bring me?
What I had to. Claire conveyed with her look before her attention was once again on the survivors in the hall.
"Mark, can you give me an update on what outside looks like? I need eyes on the cameras if we're going to be checking the situation. I guarantee we have more zombies out there than we've had previously now." Elliot gestured toward the table with the laptop that still showed the different levels of camera footage.
"On it," his twanging voice called while he shifted Liam in his arms.
The fire alarms around them soon cut off abruptly and then the door to the west office opened. Rita was stepping out with the keyring still in hand.
"Shit," Detective Elliot whispered beside Claire.
Claire lifted her gaze to follow the detective's and she froze when she saw the look on Rita's face.
Rita had been steadfast in her duty since Claire had arrived alongside Briggs that first night. While people had panicked upstairs, Rita had been the one to think of the shutters in the garage. When the other officers traversed the halls for supplies and to set up barricades, she had developed a network of information and directed them calmly through the twisting dark halls that should have been their haven. When the rest of them understood what the bites did to victims, she had already prepared to utilize the cells for safety.
Rita was a woman at a perpetual helm and even in this moment she had done what she had always needed to do. While the rest of them had run towards the explosion, Rita had taken to keeping their operations intact and went for the ringing fire alarms.
The shock living on her face now was enough to tell Claire that nobody had alerted the keen officer of her superior's injuries. The man who she always stayed around and sought her orders from first with her loyalty in her every move.
Not for the first time, Claire was wondering what Marvin Branagh meant to Rita while she watched the young, blonde officer take a tentative step forward, her eyes pinned in horror across the ruins of Marvin's skin.
"What happened?" Rita asked so quietly, Claire thought she had imagined it for a moment.
"It was a trap," Claire said after wetting her lips. "Irons set a trap upstairs."
Rita flinched slightly before she blinked and transferred her gaze over to Claire with a confused look in her eyes.
"The missing C4," Detective Elliot added beside her. Marvin took a gasping breath below them, and they paused to watch him struggle for a moment before his breath fell back into a normal rhythm. "Iron's had Ford up there as bait."
Dr. Hamilton had made his way over to Marvin and the grim look Claire found on his side profile confirmed what she already knew. Without a higher level of care, Marvin wasn't going to make it much longer. If they could continue to keep his airway stable, he'd make it a few hours at most.
"What do we do?" Rita was asking Dr. Hamilton.
"Aside from this…there's not a lot we can do until..." The doctor trailed off when he pulled the trauma bag toward him to begin treating the burns and shards still lodged in Marvin's arms and legs.
"What does he need?" Rita's breath hitched and she seemed to try and take a deep breath but upon release, it was nothing more than a shutter of fear to a woman with no form of control over the situation any longer.
"A hospital," Dr. Hamilton answered carefully. "He doesn't have long like this, Rita."
"I," Kevin had begun to speak behind them, and the broken sound in his vocal cords caught everyone's attention. "I got him killed—"
Rita's posture went rigid and when her eyes narrowed, Claire felt the ripple of tension that suddenly began to grip the room in a tight fist.
When Rita turned her profile toward the second rookie officer of the Raccoon City Police Precinct. She was turning away from her lieutenant and moving toward Kevin now while she listened to his babbling words.
"He saved—he saved me," Kevin was rising to his feet, slipping slightly from how bad he was shaking before he leaned back on the wall. Beside him, Cindy tried to hush him, but he yanked his arm from her hold and kept his eyes on Rita.
It was as if Kevin knew—As if he knew what error he had made by letting his anger become one of the strongest foes of operation, diligence, and duty; a survivor's guilt wrapped around the loss of command.
Rita stopped before him, silent while she passed judgement on the man before her.
Claire was slowly walking up behind Rita. Afraid for what may come next. Afraid for the warning Detective Elliot had bid when he looked at her firearm before they had entered the hall and afraid of what humankind was capable of when hope was lost.
"I didn't see the wire. Oh, God—" Kevin's eyes filled with tears while he tried to maintain Rita's look and remember the room upstairs. "I didn't see it—it should have been me."
Rita was turning away from Kevin when he began to cry in earnest. Kevin's crime was the hunch in her shoulders while she moved back over to her position at the front desk with the computers. As if to say—as if to show—with her back that there was no absolution to give.
Claire dropped her stare and turned toward where Leon sat. His eyes were already on her face when she connected with his gaze. The blood had been cleaned away from his ears and aside from a few scrapes he appeared to have made it away from the blast in decent form.
Claire's feet were pulling her forward before she dropped into a crouch before her rookie.
"Hey," she said softly, her hand reaching out to cup his chin while she studied the cut across his cheek. "You alright?"
"Is there even a metric for that question right now?" Leon parroted her earlier words back at her while he leaned forward into her hand. "But I'm lucky." Claire watched his eyes glance once over toward where his superior lay.
The door to the east office suddenly slammed and Claire lifted her head toward where the others stood. Rita had departed.
"Just let her… cool off," Detective Elliot called heavily when Wes made to follow after her.
"Were they…?" Dr. Hamilton hesitantly asked the cryptic question about Marvin and Rita. He was now cleaning the wounds on Marvin's legs.
"No," Detective Elliot's face fell into the most somber Claire had seen from him yet. "It was much deeper than that. He…that's not my story to tell."
"C'mon, Kevin," Claire heard Cindy say beside her and Leon.
The blonde waitress was in front of Kevin, her hands on his now upturned face. His eyes were bloodshot and wet when he sucked in a deep breath. When he looked over at Claire, his expression threatened to collapse again.
"Chief Irons did this," Leon beat Claire to the punch. "Not you. Any of us in your front position…It could have been any of us, Kevin."
Kevin shook his head and lowered it, his dark brown hair covering the shame Claire knew would live there for a while.
He would never forget that room. No matter what he did to heal it, he would remember it for the rest of his life. Just as Claire suspected she'd never forget dropping her mother in their home.
"Let's go lay down, ok? I'll lie with you, but you need to rest. Dr. Hamilton said you needed it." Cindy bid gently before she helped Kevin ambulate toward the beds.
The door to the east office rushed back open, and with quick, booted steps, Rita made her way back into the main hall with a large ledger-looking book under her arm. Her shoulder connected with Kevin's as she walked past, and it set him slightly off balance.
"Hey," Cindy snapped. The young waitress was steadying Kevin before she whirled around toward Rita and opened her mouth.
When Rita slammed the book down on the table. The echo around the room was a vast strike and it made everyone jump. Claire watched Cindy close her mouth and continue to lead Kevin away while Rita began to flip through the elongated pages of the book with her features hardening into granite.
"We still have one big problem," Detective Elliot was walking up toward Claire and Leon.
"Yeah," Leon tilted his head back onto the wall while he peered up at the dark gaze of the detective. "Irons is still loose, but would he have really stayed around after that?"
"I wouldn't have, but I'm not assuming anything anymore." The detective was continuing to their remaining weapons rack where Wes was fiddling with a few things.
After giving Leon a thorough once over, Claire stood once more to grab the airway bag that had been left near the makeshift beds. Much of their supplies had been moved and Kevin's earlier warning of theft to their items was beginning to ring true. Was it possible that Irons had been sabotaging them long before they decided to approach his office? How had they missed that?
The scattered remains of David Ford passed like a blip before Claire's memories, and she shut her eyes for a moment while she considered the ill stricken fate of the formerly quiet but honest officer.
Claire was approaching Dr. Hamilton once more as the man worked quietly beside the mayor's daughter. He lifted his head slightly to see Claire kneel back down beside him.
"I was considering intubation but…" Claire trailed off while she considered the doctor's careful work.
"Why did you save him?" Dr. Hamilton asked softly before he dropped a shard of glass into a Styrofoam cup he was using to collect the debris from Marvin's skin.
"I couldn't leave him up there, George," Claire spoke and tried to blink away the intense emotions that were threatening to rise when she considered the memory of the man before them.
The respect she held for Marvin had grown so quickly and she found the true answer of comparison rising in her mind.
Marvin had been steadfast, honorable, and it wasn't a secret why people regarded him as they did. He had lunged for Kevin upstairs, and in the span of seconds, had thrown him clear of the blast while his own body took the brunt of it.
When her hand lifted to angrily swipe away the tear that fell, Dr. Hamilton had turned his head to give her his assessing gaze.
"How can I help?" Claire cleared her throat and lifted her chin to show her full attention.
Dr. Hamilton's eyes seemed to soften while he beheld her strong countenance. As if he could see right through it. The doctor had seen plenty in his days of working in the ER and maybe even before that.
"You can help by," Dr. Hamilton began before he turned his attention back down to Marvin and began to dress the burns to the area around his calves. "Taking a quick break."
"No," Claire answered reflexively, not wanting to be dismissed. "I can—"
"Hey," Dr. Hamilton interrupted, cutting her a sharp look before glancing back down at his charge. "You're no use to me or anyone else here if you're running yourself ragged. You know better than that, and you should know that we absolutely need your help to get through this," he paused for a moment. "I need your help to get through this. Go take a moment, Claire."
A shaking breath rose from Claire's throat when she nodded slowly and glanced over at Katherine who was watching the doctor's hands work.
The hall had grown silent as each survivor was either working to assess their newfound situation or was attempting to regain themselves after the blast. Claire recognized the quiet moment for what it was and decided that she may not have another chance before something else came up.
Liam's fussy cries began to ramp up from across the room until they were no longer undeniable. The sound broke the quiet and Claire was looking toward Mark near the computer then. He was distracted by whatever was on the screen while he tried to hush the child.
In the center of the room, Rita flipped the page of the large book when she too looked up toward the child but kept silent.
Claire could see Leon's gaze following her when she made her way over to Mark and Liam. The hushed voices of Wes and Elliot beside him were hard to make out.
"Here," Claire said, holding her hands out for the child as she approached the distracted security officer. "Can I see him for a bit?"
"He needs to be changed," Mark replied with his eyes glued to the laptop. "We're going to have problems soon. There are hundreds of them out there now."
Claire swallowed thickly and managed to give Liam a goofy smile when he was transferred into her arms. When the child's weight settled against her chest, Claire felt her lips wobble for a moment while she held the steady warmth of the baby.
Elliot and Wes were walking over to view the screen when Claire turned and felt the makeshift diaper Liam had been wrapped in.
The scrapes of measured steps had Claire glancing over to see Leon beside her with his eyes also on Liam.
"I'm going to change him and…" Claire trailed off for a moment while she pulled herself together from the adrenaline. "Just take some time."
Leon nodded and placed a hand at her back before he said, "I'll come with you."
Feeling grateful for the company, Claire turned the three of them for the direction of the library and toward the locker room her and Leon had utilized prior.
On her way past, she paused beside Rita and the eyes the blonde lifted to Claire was an expression she knew all too well.
Claire opened her mouth to say something—anything, but no words came.
"Thank you," Rita said with a voice that was quiet, but something else was beneath it. Something that was bubbling to the surface. "For saving him—for allowing him more time until…"
Claire reached out her hand and clasped Rita's arm.
They were two women who had lost someone important in the building. Two souls with connections to better people that had somehow forged their respect, dedication, and loyalty. While Claire's mentor had been lost to the horror that had overtaken the city, the one Rita lost was tainted by the ministrations of madman.
The weighted resolve in Rita's eyes both scared and cradled Claire before she found herself turning away and finally heading for the door to the library. The child at her shoulder made soft noises while young fists pushed into her neck and the memory of death whispered at her back.
Leon was walking a bit slower beside her while the pair carefully made their way past the unicorn statue, into the hall that would lead past the S.T.A.R.S. office, and eventually into the locker room beyond.
Claire bit her lip while her mind whirled for their next moves. She was careful while she changed Liam. The baby was staring up at her while he made faces and reached for the hair that fell over her shoulder. Discarding the soiled cloth Wes had applied previously, Claire was quick to wipe up Liam with the wet wipes they had found in the survival bags.
Leon was quiet beside her while he sat on the ground and leaned on one of the lockers.
Cradling Liam to her chest once more, Claire gave the baby a gentle hug when he naturally tucked his head beneath her chin and grabbed at the police vest she still had on.
Claire's mind wandered while she stared down at Liam and rubbed his back. Marvin would need constant care; someone would need to plan for the zombies' numbers to overwhelm different portions of the—
A warm hand was curling around the back of her knee and causing her to jerk slightly from her thoughts. She snapped her eyes back toward Leon.
"Come here," he murmured.
Claire turned toward the rookie and when she squatted down with Liam still in hand, Leon easily guided her to sit between his legs. His larger frame was curling around her when he wound an arm around her stomach and pulled her back against his chest.
Liam let out a gurgle as his curious dark eyes stared over her shoulder at Leon.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly before he pressed his lips into her temple. His voice was curling around her while the tension in her body responded to his gentle tone. He lifted a hand and allowed Liam to grasp his fingers.
Claire felt her body begin to melt into the embrace his nearness provided. Leon had become the safety she hadn't known she designated. A last bastion of hope that still lived in Claire's chest while she faced one tragedy after the next. The thought wasn't new to her, but she allowed herself to cling to it all the same.
That exhaustion she noted previously was creeping into her features before she allowed her head to drop back onto Leon's shoulder.
"I'm just dealing, Leon," she said before she swept Liam's dark hair from his forehead. "I'm really glad that you're ok. I'm sorry I didn't stay to help you, I needed to—"
Leon's arm closed around her tighter before he murmured, "Don't you dare apologize. I know what you had to do and I'm glad you did."
"I'm starting to think I really did jinx it with the dispatch talk," Claire tried her hand at humor when she recalled their conversation in the ambulance bay.
"Either way, you're not getting out of our date so easily," Leon quipped quietly when he lifted a hand to reclaim the hair Liam had begun to pull on Claire's head. The result had Liam letting out a gurgle that sounded like a pleased laugh.
Both Leon and Claire smiled at the sound.
"Who said we were going out on a date?" Claire teased while she stared at Liam's serene expressions.
"I did when I invited you out for that drink." His tone was confident, and Claire suddenly wanted nothing more than to see that day become a reality.
"Mmm," she hummed before she tilted her head in thought. "Can't imagine what it'll be like to get to know you without the threat of looming death."
"Yeah, I think you can." The warmth in Leon's tone was meant to be flirty, and Claire found herself laughing quietly while she enjoyed the moment.
Footsteps were echoing in the hall outside the locker room, and it had both Leon and Claire glancing back toward the door. The steps were deliberate, light, and quick.
The footsteps paused outside the door and whoever it was decided not to immediately open the door or knock.
Leon's hand was at Claire's thigh. The buttons of the thigh-holster unsnapped with ease under his experienced hand before he pulled the weapon from the leather.
The footsteps began to retreat into a run and Leon climbed to his feet as a result.
The theme of the dreams had always been the same since she had escaped the Spencer mansion with the remaining four S.T.A.R.S. members. Whether the dreams depicted her staring into a mirror looking at her reflection, or it was watching the skin of her arms peel off while she attacked someone—Jill Valentine always dreamed of turning into one of them.
With her suspension from the S.T.A.R.S. after the July incident in the forest, Jill only had one month to access her health benefits before they would expire. It had been Barry Burton that had pushed for all of the remaining members to get treated or seek services prior to that ending date.
The problem with that? All their medical facilities had been run by Umbrella.
For three weeks, Jill had managed to resist the order by Barry to get treatment for injuries; mental and physical. It wasn't until Chris Redfield dragged her, bodily, into a clinic on the east side of town did she actually step foot into a medical center. Even then, she had only allowed it because Rebecca Chambers had known one of the doctors.
The diagnosis hadn't surprised her: Minor abrasions, a broken finger from her tumble with the giant snake, Major Depressive Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and insomnia.
The happy little bag of pills they had her pick up from the pharmacy swam in her vision while Chris sat with her in her cluttered apartment in August. The quiet clicking of the fan had filled the silence that grew from Chris' news for his departure. He would continue on with Barry now that Barry had managed to relocate his family with relatives in Canada.
The pills only ever seemed to help her sleep for 2-4 hours at most. They also made her sluggish and confused upon waking, which didn't help because they never suppressed the dreams.
Jill knew she was dreaming now and despite that knowledge, her hand was still reaching for the gun on her bathroom counter in the dream while her face rotted in death.
Wake up! Hey, Wake up!
The dream began to stutter as a new voice was invading her mind. It would be the first dream that didn't end with her pulling that trigger at her head.
"Hey," a voice was whispering desperately in the darkness she awoke into. "C'mon, wake up."
The voice was kind, slightly accented, and when Jill jerked up from the wall with a gasp, she was staring into the dark brown eyes of the stranger who had been passed out when she had arrived at the Raccoon City Press.
"Easy," the man in front of her was holding up his hands now. He remained in his squat before her. "Easy, I'm not gonna hurt you."
It was only then Jill became aware of the Beretta she had pointed at his chest, her finger hovering over the trigger.
"Shit," she uttered, dropping her aim, and securing the safety with a flick of her thumb. "Fuck. Don't do that. I could have—"
Jill was cutting herself off when she ran a hand over her face and took a moment to blink a few times. A soft whine had her lifting her eyes again and she watched as the man rose back to his feet and took a few steps back.
Roy was standing next to him with his tail wagging softly. The pointed ears cocking toward her harsh breathing.
Even the dog looked concerned about her.
"Pretty visceral nightmare," The man said, breaking the new silence that had taken over the room.
Jill watched as he sat back down and laid a hand on the back of Roy's head. Her eyes caught on the gun leaning next to a backpack near the wall. He had retrieved his weapon from her side of the room.
"Hey," he said again, watching her closely. "I'm Carlos. What's your name?"
"What the hell were you doing passed out in here?" Jill asked as she straightened up from the wall. Her voice was rough from sleep and from her lingering embarrassment.
"Probably the same as you, sleeping beauty," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. He leaned over and grabbed up the container that Roy was sniffing at. "I'd been running all night. Took a nasty fall and hit my head earlier in the day."
Jill watched as he pulled the MRE open and began to scoop out food to feed Roy. Roy ate with abandon and Jill suddenly felt even more guilty she hadn't found food for him before she had passed out.
"Who are you with?" she gestured toward the arm that held the patch on his shoulder. "That's not a group I'm familiar with."
"Nah, you probably wouldn't be. We were sent in to save the survivors," he looked up and over at her once more. "You often have dreams that bad?"
"For the last two months." Jill surprised herself by her own honesty.
The man—Carlos—frowned a bit before he said, "That was pretty bad, you were crying—"
"What group are you from?" She repeated her line of questioning and interrupted him. "Is it the military? I saw the chinook earlier; I've been trying to make contact but getting to the R.P.D. is proving to be a hassle."
"No," he relented and set his forearm on his knee while he studied her. "I'm from the Umbrella Biohazard Countermeasure Service. There are about four platoons—"
"Umbrella," Jill snarled, stumbling to stand to her feet. "Are you fucking kidding me? You're the ones that started all of this—"
Carlos was standing to his feet too, and he easily towered over her short stature. His demeanor became serious as his brows drew down and a frown was creasing his youthful face. Shaggy, slightly curly black hair was draping over his brow.
"Whoa, what are you talking about—" He tried to say.
"Don't fucking bullshit me." Jill didn't find his height intimidating and she was stepping up to him with her face tilted toward his before she gave a light shove to his chest. "Umbrella created this shit, and you think I'm just going to believe that they sent in a rescue crew to clean this up?"
"I'm just a hired hand—a mercenary," Carlos replied gently while he gazed down at her, unaffected by her anger. "The last executive decision I made was what to eat for dinner three nights ago. Beyond that, I'm not the mastermind you're lookin' to persecute, ok?"
"You don't know anything about what's happening to this city?" Jill asked with disbelief lining her tone while she studied his body language.
Carlos was a good-looking man with features that gave way to the sharp edges in his cheeks and jawline. His eyes were dark, and the corners were slightly upturned in their indigenous roots. His stature was of someone who knew what they were capable of and whether Jill ever decided to admit it out loud, she knew he had earned it if he had managed to survive this long.
"No, ma'am," he seemed to be doing the same scope of her as he gave her a quick once over. "My instructions were to bring any remaining survivors to the extraction point."
"And where's that?" Jill asked, her hostile tone fading when she took a step back from him. "And don't call me ma'am; I work for a living."
Amusement was lining Carlos' eyes when he gave his head a slight tilt and said, "The Saint Michael's clock tower, but that plan may be demolished, uh…" he trailed off, signaling verbally for what to call her.
"It's Jill," she relented before she turned her eyes away to process the new information.
"And what's the dog's name?" he asked beside her, drawing her eyes once more when he leaned back down to pet Roy who had finished his food.
"Roy," she answered simply.
"Roy?" Carlos' voice was lined with offense.
"That's his name," Jill snapped. "Where are your other soldiers—"
"He told you that?" Carlos jerked his head toward a happily fed Roy. "His name?"
Jill's jaw slackened before she scooped up Roy's previously discarded vest and shook it so the dog tag jingled.
"Mmm," Carlos sucked his teeth while he watched her with that playful amusement leaking further into his eyes. "So, what's your training level then, Jill? The badge tells me you're some sort of cop." He gestured to the S.T.A.R.S. badge on her hip.
"I'm asking the questions here," Jill tossed the vest back down.
"Are you?" Carlos asked with a smile threatening to break across his face.
Jill despised the smile that wanted to tug at her own lips, and she turned away to avoid showing it. She heard Carlos' chuckle as a result, and it only grated further against her nerves.
"We—" Jill tried again but cut herself off when Roy began to growl softly. The dog was rising to all four legs and positioning himself to stare toward the door.
"Shit," she whispered and kneeled beside him to reapply the vest. Roy could either hear or smell something and Jill thought she might know what it was.
"What?" Carlos asked softly as he picked up his gun and moved quickly beside Jill. All humor in his features had transferred over to the attention of a soldier, and Jill found herself respecting the sight of it.
"Look," she whispered when she glanced over at him and continued to secure Roy's vest clasps. "You might not want to stick around with me. I've got something…different following me; it's called a tyrant."
When no level of recognition flared in Carlos' eyes, Jill wondered if he was just a good actor or if he truly didn't know what his employer was capable of.
"I'm not leaving you now," was his soft response.
Both of them remained silent when they heard weighted steps hit the stairs outside of the room they occupied.
"I don't need a chaperone," Jill countered while she looked toward the windows around them. The west side of the building had a metal awning they could climb down.
"I'd disagree," Carlos followed her eyes and jerked his head toward that window while he began to move.
"S.T.A.R.S…" the haunting declaration hit Jill's ears before the door to the room shook as the tyrant attempted to shove open the door.
"Here's the deal then," Jill uttered, pushing the window up before she glanced back toward Carlos. "You carry him down or over difficult obstacles. Do not leave him behind." Her eyes flickered to Roy. "And you listen to every god damn word I say, when I say it, and follow it. Otherwise, you're dead."
"Always preferred the woman to be in charge," Carlos answered with a shrug before he glanced back at the door as it shuddered from the next hulking blow.
Jill rolled her eyes and stepped out onto the metal awning.
"C'mon," she called before she set her hand onto her chest. Come.
Roy hopped out of the window without fear and brought himself before Jill. He sat and watched Carlos' form begin to peel out from the window.
When Carlos followed soon after, the door to the press room exploded open.
"Get down," Jill whispered, pressing their bodies below the window. She had wrapped her hand around Carlos' forearm and yanked him down beside her.
The booted steps of the tyrant were loud in the room they had just occupied. Its heavy breathing marked its frustration while it seemed to search the room. A few minutes of tense silence passed until Jill was certain that the tyrant had moved on. She slowly rose to peek over the window and found the room empty.
They'd need to vacate the area quickly.
"So," Carlos was whispering beside her. "Where are you from?"
"This isn't a date," she snapped quietly when she lowered herself back down and looked over at him.
"I was talking to Roy," Carlos announced when her eyes met his.
Jill scoffed and let her head thump back into the wall of the press building.
"Roy," Carlos was leaning toward the dog on duty who was happily thumping his tail at the attention the man gave. "We don't talk to pretty girls with bad manners, do we?"
Roy whined softly in return.
"That's right," Carlos was grinning slightly again. "Good boy."
Jill stared on at the man with his good looks and easy demeanor. He didn't seem phased by the situation at all, which put her on higher alert. Mercenary or not, he should at least be a little more concerned with what would be following him now.
The more he opened his mouth, the more she was certain that this was going to be a long night.
"Shut up, Carlos," she muttered.
When he laughed quietly again, Jill hated that she liked the sound of it so much. She also hated catching the faint notes of his cologne. It was nice after a night of traversing the dead around them, and it spoke to a more primal attention that Jill hadn't thought of in years.
"Where to now, Supercop?" Carlos was finally turning his attention back to her.
Jill grit her teeth around the nickname but chose not to acknowledge it. She also chose not to acknowledge how grateful she was not to be alone anymore.
"To the police station," she answered when she turned her eyes back down to the city below.
When she rose to her feet again, this time she wasn't on her own. The steps of the mercenary and her new K9 friend trailed her steadily. When she was further than Carlos in the light jog they began through the city, she smiled so he couldn't see it.