The cocaine operation of the Medellín Cartel was a well-known portion of South America's history. Founded and led by Pablo Escobar, it was often considered the first major "drug cartel" and was operated by the many trading hands within Bolivia, Colombia, Panama, Central America, Peru, the Bahamas, and the United States until 1993.
Over the next decade, as men got old, and sons grew into tyrants, the next set of hands would determine how the South American affiliations would foster. Carlos Enrique Lehder had been one of the original hands within the early 90's, and currently his son, Marcos Felipe Lehder, was making a name for himself within the Cártel de Santa Cruz in Bolivia.
For years now, several members of different aligned countries had put together a resistance squadron to help in combating the gang presence and violence in the underserved portions of the countries. Despite the work being done, they had never fully managed to identify which members of the Medellín Cartel were still active.
However, someone had been transporting main caravans through different portions of South America and with it, the gang violence in the smaller communities began to rise. Still, they had no names to point to.
Until now.
The moans of Carlos Oliveira's surviving men had been ringing in his ears for days now. The drugs in his system had been making him as sick as a dog on the come down but it had the intended effect as he watched his men get slaughtered one by one while he could do nothing to stop it. The jingling of the overhead hooks would ring in his dreams for years to come.
Black, slightly wavy hair hung over Carlos' forehead as Marcos Lehder continued to speak above him now. The blood from Carlos' two missing fingers was crusting on his knuckles that were pressed behind him in its binding. The dry rope had tattooed burns into his wrists and sometimes Carlos would purposely twist his arms to remind himself he could still feel something.
"Are you listening?" The warbling voice hissed above him.
Carlos opened his swollen mouth and spit blood at the black boots in front of him. He didn't bother to raise his head after the fist came down to hit him in the temple once more. He had stopped being able to fully resist days ago.
When the Cartel had arrived once again in Bolivia and they made themselves known in the smaller communities, Carlos had finally agreed to come home to be near Alonzo. His youngest and only surviving brother had been alone for years. It was a knowledge that had killed Carlos inside, but one didn't just walk away from Umbrella before 1998.
When the bodies of the little girls turned up on their doorsteps, Carlos had begun to mobilize the families. When the torture videos arrived at their resistance bases and echoed across the screens of what had been done to their families, Carlos had armed his own community. When his resistance fighters managed to disrupt the flow of the last trades and decimate the cartel base toward Colombia, they had put Carlos in charge of his men when his original captain fell.
When they had taken his men and captured him alongside them, Carlos knew no one would be coming. None of the other resistance captains would risk it.
The information they had found out about a villa in Popayán, Colombia was damning, and Carlos knew Marcos Lehder would do anything to keep it under wraps.
Marcos Lehder wasn't in charge, no that had all been a front.
But before Carlos could deliver his findings, fate had stepped in to lend a hand again.
As Carlos sat on his knees and wavered from Marcos' next blow, he couldn't help but picture the bloody rosary that lay against his brother Tonio's chest all those years ago. The men of the Oliveira family didn't last long, and Carlos could only hope Alonzo had the sense to run.
"Power cut out from the storm. They're looking for Jose; he's not at his post," One of the men called to Marcos above him.
Marcos' hand weaved through Carlos' hair and yanked his head up.
"The Blood Alliance," Carlos managed to spit out around his thick tongue. "What do you think they'll do to you when they realize what you've been doing with their territories?"
"Shut the fuck up!" Marcos' eyes were wild in his transforming rage.
"Boss, did you hear me?" The man from before called.
"Take care of it! Or do I have to do everything for you? Radio Ortiz and get him back here." Marcos kept a hold of Carlos' hair as he darted his eyes to the other man.
"The radios are down; we can't get any communication out." The other man's tone held an edge of irritation and something a little deeper.
"You let that big family name get to your head." Carlos let the dry laugh slip from his throat as he rolled his head further back. "You forgot who you answered to. You forgot that the last thing your boss wants is attention."
Marcos was dropping his hold on Carlos' hair while letting out a curse. The black bag that sat next to the carcass splitting saw was already open when the frantic man strode to it.
Carlos let out a deep throaty chuckle as the smell of urine, fecal matter, sweat, and fear wafted up into his nose once more. The heroin they had drugged him with was the best that was being offered in other territories. He hadn't been able to do anything more than watch on in bliss as some of his men had been hacked to pieces earlier and he wouldn't be able to do much else with the next dose either. However, he'd make sure the only Lehder son had much to think about before he died.
His men too.
"Could save yourselves a lot of trouble if one of you had the balls to tell the alliance what's goin' on here," Carlos tilted his head toward the four men who were standing in the bleeding area for the cattle. He was struggling to continue to speak without the rolling sensation of his stomach. "Rewarded even. The Blood Alliance likes their towns compliant apparently."
Several of Carlos' own surviving men stared back at him in silence as they too sat bound and bleeding—the power blackout had bought them time when the industrial meat grinder had shut off, but it was borrowed time.
"You think you're going to turn my men on me?" Marcos was making his way back towards him now. "Little fool like you? You should've stayed gone the first time, Oliveira. Seems you were always destined to end up on your knees. Your brothers paved the way for the fall. All of them were like an open palm reading but you all weren't very fast on the uptake, were you?"
The needle glinted in the emergency light that hung from above, but Carlos wasn't really paying attention to that or Marcos anymore. Although his eyes remained forward, his attention became heavily focused at the movement in the corner of his eye.
Over Marcos' shoulder, the ventilation shaft for the incinerator was shifting from its position in the wall. When Marcos bent down to grab his bound arm, Carlos allowed his eyes to drift to the figure who leaned out of the shaft.
A hooded face peered from the darkness, and he watched as a hand came up to pale lips and raised a single finger in the silent language to be quiet.
"After I find that last little brothers of yours, I will erase every piece of your existence. I'm going to burn your village to the ground, Oliveira. Not a single soul is going to even be able to recall your memory!" The needle was poised above his skin when Marcos lifted his head and grinned. "What do you think of that?"
"I think you forgot about me," a feminine voice called out behind him.
When Marcos spun around, a few things happened then. Carlos got a glimpse of the slender woman in a bloody blue poncho standing behind him. From beneath her hood, a visible, sneering mouth twisted in vicious contempt before them both. Marcos' men were spinning at the intrusion, and at the sound of a distant sniper rifle that began to fire on the outside of the walls.
The woman, whose Spanish was too neutral in its variation and dialect, seemed to focus on that sound too. Her head tilted slightly before the glint of a blade caught in the overhead light with a slice that turned her upper torso.
Blood spilled to the ground in between Marcos' feet while his back was to Carlos. Carlos glanced down at the splatter and wondered for the first time if he was having another fevered dream.
Shouts bounced around the room of the cattle bleeding area when Marcos fell to his knees; the man's choking words lost to the blood that clogged his airway.
Carlos watched the woman lift a boot and place her foot on Marcos' shoulder while she viewed the men who were running towards their guns.
"You've been accused of drug trafficking, terrorism, intimidation, kidnapping, and extortion. How do you plead?" Her voice was a vengeful strike in the echoing room.
Marcos could do nothing but choke.
"Guilty," she breathed before she kicked Marcos backwards.
Marcos landed on his back beside Carlos' still kneeling form. The bleeding man's eyes were looking up toward him while Carlos viewed the slit across his neck that poured blood on the ground around him. Hands were scrambling at his skin as if he could close the wound if he tried hard enough.
The woman was turning for the men but before she did, Carlos could feel her eyes on him from beneath that hood.
"You took what was mine," she hissed to the remaining men who were shouting orders at her. "You committed crimes against your community and for that I find it fair that cowardice spells out your failure. Lay down your weapons."
Had Carlos' heart not already belonged to another, he probably would have proposed. Hell, he still might.
"Who the fuck are you?!" ARs were pointed at the woman now, but she kept up her slow stride across the dirty floor.
"Rhamnusia," She answered simply and then she moved.
In daze, Carlos viewed the billowing poncho trail her form when she crossed the space in bounding strides. The rumbling fire of the guns couldn't follow her fast enough when her palm met the floor in a fold of her willowed frame; legs twirled with her first flip before her feet planted on one of the metal pens in the center of the bleeding area. With a toss from her crouched position on the railing, the knife found its home in the chest of one man before she ran the length of the metal railing in fleet-footed steps.
When the remaining men tried to shoot once more, Carlos ducked his head as the bullets slammed into the beam above him.
The woman was propelling herself from the railing in a cartwheel. In an upwards strike of her ankle, she had knocked the gun of the second man away before an elbow rammed back and delivered a vicious blow to his nose, jerking his head back with a grunt. Using his momentum, she twirled the man who was twice her size and used him as a shield when the next rounds of fire were aimed toward her.
When her human shield dropped, her next salto flip found her near the cornered wall. With weightless ease, she kicked off the wall and brought both feet up and hooked them around the neck of the closest man. A twist of her falling torso brought him from his full height and crashing to the ground with a shout. His AR fired wildly in death when her hands found his chin and twisted his head at the wrong angle.
The last man was dropping his weapon and whimpering out a plea when Carlos viewed her standing to her feet. A gun appeared in her hand from behind her back and without preamble, she executed two shots. The last man fell and moved no more.
The newfound silence highlighted the sniper fire outside, and the woman wasn't wasting anymore time when she spun from her kills and aimed for Carlos' men. His gut was tightening in fear before he watched her cut the rope at their wrists.
"Rhamnusia," one of his men, Alex, murmured in reverence while his head of brown curly hair dipped toward his chest.
"There's a little girl upstairs." her voice wasn't as cold when she stared down at David before he rose to his feet. "Get her down here and prepare to push outside. Can any of you fight?"
"We'll be fine, I'll get the girl." Alex responded when he shakily stood to his feet. The fresh knife wounds on his cheeks were painting most of his face red, and his grimacing expressions kept opening the wounds.
"Don't remove her tourniquet," The woman warned Alex.
Carlos' sluggish eyes trailed him before Alex paused at her words and then quickly made his way toward the door that led to the stairs.
"Alonzo is outside on the southern summit. There are still enemies outside. Be mindful of your shots." She continued.
The woman made her way towards him now and when she crouched before him, her foot settled in the cooling blood of Marcos who had gone still minutes ago. A pale hand was reaching up for her hood when the gunfire of automatic weapons rattled from beyond the walls.
His brother, Alonzo—he had come for them. And with him he had brought—
Her hand fell away from her still upturned hood, but Carlos could see bloody strands of blonde hair slipping from her poncho when she jerked her head toward the doors. Her blooded knife was slipping through the ropes and his hands finally came free.
"Thank you," Carlos murmured through his haze. "I'll need a little help to stand though, Rhamnusia."
Her head turned toward him once more at his sarcastic tone. Her amused hum was something that perked into his ears.
"Surely a tall drink of water like yourself can survive a little longer?" She asked when her hand grabbed his arm and began to help him from his knees.
The words confused him. Although it was delivered in Spanish, his brain itched at the memory that came tumbling forward. He let out a hiss as he stood to his feet, and she wound his arm around her shoulder.
"Who—" Carlos started to say but the sound of hysterical wailing penetrated the space when Alex pushed through the door at the stairway; a young girl lay bleeding in his arms. Alex's shushing tones didn't seem to be working but when Carlos spotted the missing portion of her leg, he understood all too well.
"Move, people." The woman called out and pulled his unsteady form forward.
"I got the captain, Rhamnusia," Pedro, his farmhand turned weapons specialist, said beside her.
The woman seemed to pause before she nodded slowly. With what appeared to be reluctance, she pulled Carlos' arm from her shoulder and allowed Pedro to slide it over his.
"Captain?" she asked with a breath of something escaping through a tone that twanged deep into Carlos' soul. "Is it not Arturo in command?"
"No," Carlos managed to say and stumbled forward. The world was becoming a chaotic spin, but he needed to get closer to her—needed to see her face.
"Easy," Pedro warned beside him.
Carlos was trying to get the words out when he watched her move away and approach the doors. She was reaching into a holster on her back. A silver magnum flashed, and she was pushing the front door open slowly when the sounds of a fire fight came through more clearly.
"Which one of you is next in command?" She called softly back towards them.
Alex glanced his way before he straightened up and adjusted the child in his arms. "I am, ma'am."
"Names?" she bid.
"Alexandre Sosa."
"Pedro Rossi."
"David Cabrera."
"Sosa," The Rhamnusia called, her tone strengthening. "I came here for Captain Oliveira but we're all going to make it out of here, do you understand?"
Carlos let out a sound as the urge to see her face became stronger.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Cabrera, rear support; protect the child at all costs. Rossi, if the captain falls and you show up alone, don't let me catch you."
"Understood." Hope was flickering on the faces of his men and Carlos would have more to say about it if he didn't feel like he was going to—
Carlos' body bowed forward, and bile was rushing up before spilling to the ground.
"Heroin, ma'am." One of them seemed to explain to the woman while his eyes squeezed shut in pain. "They drugged him constantly before they…"
"Let's move, we don't have a lot of time." Her voice held a sharper edge.
Carlos wasn't sure what kept him going forward as he leaned on Pedro, but when he looked back on it, he would have said it was because he knew it was her even then.
It had always been her.
Every day for the last 12 years since he last saw her, it had always been her.
Three out of the nine men were still alive when Jill Valentine pushed out from the slaughterhouse doors. The rest of the courtyard was lined with the fallen few she had counted when she had been looking through her binoculars earlier in the evening.
Her gun lifted as the storm above her pelted the poncho on her shoulders. The night was deep and black, and the only light came from two emergency lights that were hung on the far-left side of the building.
The flash of a muzzle caught her gaze from the deep right.
"Sosa," She glanced at the man she had put in charge. He couldn't have been more than 20 years old. "Rope around to the right, make your way up the hill. Tell Alonzo if I'm not up there in 20 to just go."
"Not leaving you behind," Alex said after a moment.
Jill jutted her chin from beneath the hood toward the nearly unconscious Carlos. "He's in withdrawal. He needs rest and Buprenorphine; he may die. Don't let that happen."
Jill was truly taking in the men beside her then.
Carlos' face was a mixture of black and blue while his left eye socket was swelling considerably. His pinkie and ring finger were missing from his left hand while blood patches announced wounds she couldn't see beneath his dirty tactical shirt. From blood loss, fear, or withdrawal, Carlos' naturally tanned skin seemed pale and even before they had stepped out into the rain, Jill had recognized the sweating madness that was substance abuse.
The rest of the men had similar wounds; none of them were without evidence of torture. Worst of all, was the young girl who clung to the neck of Alex Sosa. The short soldier clutched her tightly while he stared at Jill after her harshly delivered words.
Soon, the clinking of gear and the sounds of the whimpering child were announcing their exit when Jill turned back toward the last of her enemies.
"Wait—" She thought she heard Carlos' call from behind her, but she didn't dare turn back.
Until it was safe, Jill didn't allow herself to fall into the space that didn't belong to a soldier. She wasn't ready for it. She didn't know if Carlos was ready for it.
What these men did to the child…what they did to the bodies she found in the other rooms. What they had done to Carlos—
A sniper shot tore through the wooden structure before her, and she heard someone beyond it cry out. It seemed like Alonzo wasn't too bad of a shot.
Pressing the details of human induced tragedy back behind her training, Jill crept forward and rounded the building in an arc with her weapon trained ahead. The hiding forms of the last two standing men came into view and she exhaled a breath as the magnum round found its target in the first man's chest.
The second man was swinging around with his weapon before a sniper shot tore through his jaw and he pitched forward in death.
Jill's magnum was lowering when the last man fell. The grounds around her fell quiet and she exhaled heavily into the night. She lifted her head and looked toward where she thought Alonzo might be watching. With her lips wobbling in the realization of what they had done, she righted her spine and gave a salute into the darkness.
After a few beats, the blink of a flashlight answered her in rapid succession, and the smile that overtook her face was one that was bid to respect those in combat beside one another.
Knowing safety was within reach, Jill lifted four fingers and signaled the time she needed to finish before she turned to trot back toward the slaughterhouse.
Stepping over bodies, it didn't take Jill long to locate the gasoline for the generators. With tired muscles straining, she was dumping a line of it throughout the hallways while the fumes of what she was becoming was stinging her eyes. Through the multitudes of sections that lay in the dips and curves of the old building, Jill Valentine asked herself what she was now.
The dead and sightless eyes of the fallen men around her was a 50/50 split. The pile of dead children she had found earlier was a tattoo on her heart that called to the mothers who would never know the horrors inflicted on their babies—nameless graves of smoke and ash. Jill could only whisper a prayer while her tears rolled down sharp cheekbones.
With a silver zippo she had found on one of the desks, she flipped the metal top open, and started the blaze that would destroy the majority of the evidence.
The words "El que reza y peca, empata" stared up at her from the swirling engraving on the side of the lighter she held in her palm. Twisting flames reflected from the whites of her eyes while she translated the words in her mind.
"He who sins, but prays, breaks even overall."
Jill huffed a breath and turned on her booted heel to leave. Her hand dropped the lighter into her back pocket.
The compromised B&E specialist failed to notice the single blinking camera that sat in the top right corner of the room just slightly out of her sight.
When Jill made it to the plateau where the cave entrance sat, Alonzo's worried gaze caught hers as he emerged from the surrounding darkness. She opened her mouth but let out a startled sound as the younger man stepped forward to wrap her in a hug.
"You did it," his Spanish was delivered with a waver while he murmured the same thing over and over again into her ear.
Jill felt the tension melt from her shoulders, and she let out the breath she had been holding onto ever since she had first made her way down the mountainside. Her hands clasped his back and for a moment, Jill just allowed herself to feel the choices she had made to get the men and child out.
"Nice shooting," she finally whispered when she pulled back. "Where's Carlos?"
"In the truck, he's not doing so well. We gotta get out of here," Alonzo explained with urgency layering his tone.
"Lead the way, sharpshooter," Jill bid with an offered hand.
His smile graced her weary soul before he shook his head in what looked like wonder. The wet strands of his long hair were swaying when he took a backwards step, as if he couldn't yet let his gaze leave her hooded face. His eyes turned then to the plume that was lighting the valley below.
Jill turned too towards the sight.
The slaughterhouse was beginning to burn. Twisting flames from the accelerant were rising from the roof and through the few windows in the structure. The surrounding area reflected its glow with twisting shadows, and had it not been for the horrible nature of events, Jill would have called it beautiful.
Instead, it was nothing more than a grave.
"Rhamnusia," Alonzo murmured.
"Can't wait to hear my own name again," Jill relented while she drew her gaze away and turned him back around with her hand. "C'mon."
She took one last glance at the burning structure behind her. Somewhere behind her violet gaze, the fury she had drawn from previously closed its eyes in her chest, and finally it slept on once more.
Leaving Jill with the knowledge that she had killed again—became a weapon once more.
The red truck sat in darkness while the weather above continued to pound against the terrain. The flashlight that Alonzo used while he led them both forward highlighted the fading red paint. Eyes connected with Jill's through the windshield, and she noted Alex who sat in the passenger seat with the young girl still in his lap.
Rounding the side of the truck, Alonzo handed her the flashlight and she lifted it to see David and Pedro in the back of the truck bed with Carlos. Carlos sat with his back against the rear window and his eyes were closed in pain while his great chest rose and fell rapidly. His hands were at his stomach while Jill noted the shivering limbs.
David and Pedro watched while Jill began to tear the bloody poncho from her frame. Their eyes widened slightly when her bare face lifted toward them. Her hair had come unbound sometime in her fight, and the crusted blood on the thin strands was staining her grey tank top from the falling rain.
Jill was handing the flashlight to David before she swung her leg over the back of the truck bed and stepped inside.
Carlos didn't open his eyes when Jill crouched beside him and pulled his shoulder forward. With a little difficulty, she managed to pull the poncho over Carlos before she settled his back against the tiny rear window of the truck once more.
His eyes opened slightly when her fingers were pulling the hood around his head.
Jill leaned forward a little when he murmured something. His tremors were becoming worse, and he lurched forward with a grunt.
Jill thumped the top of the truck before she backed herself beside Carlos with a leg lifting to step on either side of his hips. The holster of her magnum on her back briefly caught the top of the truck's cab when she bent to lean Carlos forward. Her bottom settled against the wet truck bed as she sat down behind him and brought Carlos' back against her chest. Quickly settling in, Jill wrapped her arms around his back and under his arms to his chest.
Carlos was still speaking but as far as Jill could tell, it was frantic nonsense.
The truck began to move as Alonzo carefully maneuvered them backwards and finally pulled forward down the wet surface of the plateau.
Lightning arced across the sky once more and Jill wasn't paying attention when the eyes of David and Pedro watched her lean forward and began whispering into their captain's ear. David had switched off the flashlight so when the lightning disappeared, they were all plunged into darkness once more.
"Carlos," she said loudly enough into his ear beneath the poncho hood. "Fight it, Carlos. I've got you this time."
Her words were delivered in English, and it was the first she had spoken the language since she had arrived in South America. After the last 24 hours, it almost seemed strange for her to do so, despite it being her primary language.
Carlos jerked in her arms at the sound, but he was soon leaning heavily back into her. His uninjured hand rose and grasped the one she had over his chest.
Did he recognize her voice? Did he know who held him now?
Jill continued to talk quietly into his ear as the truck bounced and turned in their journey back to the village where she had met Alonzo. The younger Oliveira brother didn't take them back through the city this time. Assuming he wanted as little eyes on them as possible, Jill was dimly aware of their new route that continued their journey cloistered in the shadows.
Soon the glow of tiny homes with fires lighting in a few of the windows was coming into view. The rain was beginning to slow when they came to their final stop.
The jostle of the cab doors opening and closing caused Jill to lift her head. The rain had plastered her blonde hair to her skull and when she turned her head from Carlos', she met the look of Alonzo who was studying her before he turned on his heel and began to shout for someone in the village.
Voices were rising around them when David hopped out of the back of the truck and lowered the back bed door. Villagers of varying different ages were coming to assist. Some of them were stepping forward with stricken faces while a few hugged David and Pedro both.
Alex had handed over the young girl, and the wail of what Jill assumed was her mother was filling the space as an older man was clutching the child. The older man was fading into the darkness then, running toward the buildings in the village beyond.
"Rhamnusia," Alonzo spoke beside her, and it made her jump. "We're safe now. We need to get him out."
Different and unfamiliar sets of eyes were watching her as the men of the village waited to haul their resistance captain out.
Jill breathed deeply and straightened from her hunched over position. She went to pull her hand from Carlos' grip, which he hadn't broken since their ride began. His larger hand gripped hers tightly when she tried to withdraw.
"Carlos," she whispered. "Let go. We're safe. You're safe."
His hand held tight for a few more beats before one by one, the fingers lifted, and Jill could finally pull her hand away.
Two men jumped into the back of the pickup, and they were sliding Carlos toward the end of the truck bed carefully. Soon, a man stood on each side of him as they held an arm over their shoulders, and each took one of his legs. The sound of the rain plastering against the poncho he wore became fainter when they carried him further away.
Jill drew up her knees and rested her elbows against her thighs as she watched the people moving in a flurry around her. In the darkness, her face fell slack and the exhaustion was beginning to become a physical thing that seemed to keep her pinned to the soaking metal of the vehicle.
A hand touched her arm, and the eyes of Alex Sosa met hers when she turned to look at him. She could feel him studying her and asking a silent question while she continued to sit.
"You need rest," he stated baldly in Spanish. His light brown eyes were reflecting torch light from somewhere behind her. "Take Carlos' home."
"Where did they take him?" Jill watched as Alonzo approached from the muddy path from the homes.
"Healer's house," Alex said simply.
"You should get those cuts looked at too." She was looking at the slices that had been made to his cheeks and forehead now. He would have the scars for life.
"I will." His eyes searched her face. "Who are you?"
Jill knew he wasn't looking at the Rhamnusia then. Alex was looking at the woman who gently held their captain and whispered to him softly in English. The woman who released tears in front of the men she had rescued and seemed to call forth a past that was foreign on the soil of somewhere new.
"Alex, get in there. Madris wants you treated too," Alonzo interrupted when he stepped up to the truck and wound his hand over the ridge of the bed.
Alex didn't break his stare from Jill when he nodded. He stepped back a few times before he finally decided to drop her eyes and turned to go join the rest of the men and the little girl.
"I need to get that medicine you mentioned earlier." Alonzo was staring at Jill now, a soft look replacing the harder one he had kept when he had helped the men pull Carlos from the vehicle. "Can you write that down for me?"
Jill was finally standing then. She vaulted over the side of the truck and leaned into the cab to grab the notebook she had stowed in the bag he had provided earlier. With quick strokes, she finished naming what he would need before she tore the paper from the page and left it on his car seat so the weather wouldn't drench it further than her wet fingers had.
"I'll be back soon," Alonzo said gently when he touched her shoulder next. His keys were in his hand. "Go get some rest."
Jill was bobbing her head and it caused a blonde strand of her bloody hair to drag against her collarbone.
"Hey," Alonzo grabbed her wrist when she tried to walk past.
Jill turned her head over her shoulder and took in the younger man who beheld her with the warm countenance of a friend.
"Those men? That child?" he released her wrist but stepped closer. "My brother? They are all here because of what you did—because of what you can do. Their families get them back because of you, Jill."
"Arturo will probably think differently," Jill replied when her hand touched her shoulder and shifted her wet clothing from her freezing skin.
"Lucky for you, Arturo doesn't call the shots." Alonzo's grin caused Jill to pause. "Luckily for you, you seem to have quite the favor with the man who actually does."
Alonzo told her to use Carlos' home as Alex had. When he quickly stepped back into the truck and pulled the vehicle back down the muddy path, Jill watched on while the murmur of excited voices rose behind her in the clamor of their return.
While she walked the same path toward Carlos' home, the contrast of her arrival from only 24 hours previous was a tangible thing.
The people of the village were murmuring to her quietly when she passed. A few reached out and touched her arm as they whispered Rhamnusia like a prayer.
Jill could only offer a weak smile while she lifted one foot after the other. Dirty boots were staining the hand-shaped wood of Carlos' porch when she pushed the door open. Someone had lit the candles on the tiny table in front of the couch.
She kicked off her boots without ceremony, leaving them outside and under the grass awning above. Peeling her wet clothes from her frame without a care of who could see her if they were looking in, Jill was leaning down to grab a fresh set of clothes from her duffle before she stepped into the tiny bathroom the home provided.
Someone else seemed to be staring back at her from the cracked mirror that was leaning against the wall of the small bathroom.
A table had been pushed against the wall, and Jill was dumping the water from one of the bottles she brought into the wooden basin that sat atop the table.
She had slaughtered them all—the rest of the men. Every single one except for the few that Alonzo had taken down outside with the sniper. There had been five other men on the second floor after the man who was torturing the child fell. She had been a living torch without care or concern for her safety as her boots pounded down the hall, announcing death on the horizon.
It had been so easy. They were too slow to react, too undeserving to live, and too guilty to continue.
Jill's hands slapped against the counter and gripped the edges while their faces tore through her mind.
Was there a difference? From killing the innocent without her own sovereignty, to killing the guilty under complete control of herself?
Her shaking hands were cupping water to her face when she washed the remaining blood from her skin and tips of her hair. The water in the basin slowly became more and more red.
Not wanting to see the face that was now free of blood, Jill turned away and pulled a towel that hung from the hook on the wall. When her skin and hair was as dry as it was going to get, she redressed, set the towel back over the hook, and stumbled toward the main room.
With a heavy drop, Jill sat back onto the cold seat of the couch and glanced down at the flickering flame of the chalky candle on the table.
The whisper of skin seemed loud when Jill's hands clenched into fists in her lap before she blew out the flames that also roared in her own memory.
She couldn't stop picturing Carlos on his knees bleeding. When she had peered out at him from her position in the vent, that curling serpent of anger had only roared louder.
What would have happened had she come a day later? Or not at all?
The thoughts spiraled further and further while her heart pounded for the man who she felt like demanding to see—to make sure he was alright. To make sure he lived.
In the cover of darkness, Jill Valentine laid back on the couch and pulled the blanket over her shivering frame before she fell into terrible dreams.