Stage Eighteen: Regurgitation
Mauti-Kifo – African Tricell Division Camp – Aid Station
There was nothing worth saving in the blistering heat. It bred and burned like fire made flesh. It left your body boiling, your brain baking, your eyes aching. The heat was a living, breathing, cloying thing. The sand stretched wide and white in dunes and hills and spilled across the savannah beneath the acacia trees and the drying grasses turned yellow and brown with drought.
Where the desert ended and met the brittle grass, the tiny village of Mauti-Kifo existed. It was little more than thatched rooves and roads turned rough and shot through with runnels beneath the once well-traveled wheels of the convoys that had come to seek aid at the camp. The camp was abandoned. It was empty. Whatever and whoever had occupied it once had long since fled.
There was evidence of inhabitance in the roughed in tents and burlap that offered the seeker shelter from the elements and the sandstorms that plagued the region. Tables were tossed and supplies raided by various evacuees that had fled and taken what they could with them. A few bodies littered the ground, some buried in the dying grass, some covered in sand kicked up by the wind.
They'd died tragically and eroded by elements enough that it was hard to tell if it had been by disease or by destruction. The number of dead suggested widespread contamination. The question was what agent was being used to decimate the area? Was it a known or an unknown virus?
The answers weren't forthcoming. They'd have to dig to find them.
They were dressed in desert survival gear. Each wore varying shades of camouflage and tan, buckskin boots and shemaghs to cover faces and protect from the sandstorms. Claire wore desert camo fatigues and a tank top in sandy brown paired with a moisture-wicking jacket stone gray. The shemagh wrapped around her face was olive drab and beneath the ballcap that protected her face. Her red hair was tucked into a ponytail out the back of the cap.
Sherry wore skinny buckskin pants tucked into thigh high boots. She wore a white heavy men's dress shirt belted at her narrow waist beneath a poncho in good tan. The hood was tossed over her hair that was tightly braided to the back of her scalp. The shemagh she wore showed little more than her blue eyes beneath the dark hood.
Leon was in dirt brown and black. His dark fatigues paired with an olive drab combat vest above a slick brown shirt. The faded leather duster he wore flapped around his knees as he moved and left his carefully covered face hidden in the mystery of the hood. His arms were wrapped carefully from wrists to elbows and finished with tactical gloves that left his fingers free to pull the trigger. His legs were strapped with thigh holsters on either leg and a combat knife was tucked into the front of his vest.
Claire wore her weapon in a shoulder holster and her thigh on her calve. Sherry had a sawed-off shotgun looped over her back. They were quiet as they dug amongst what little information was left in the raided camp.
They'd been searching for hours. The remains of the camp was a hollowed out shell. It was a carcass, picked clean by the carrion feeders that had come before. The vultures had come and taken anything of value. Likely the former dregs of Umbrella had beaten them to the punch and found anything worth stealing.
Leon was just about to pull the plug on the whole thing when Sherry gave a shout from three tents over. He and Claire converged on her at the same time.
She was waving a small faded journal at them. She jerked her shemagh down her face and said, "Listen…listen to this…"
It was a passenger manifest. It listed the names of a convoy that had come to the camp seeking aid. There were lots of names of no consequence on it. Some were vaguely familiar. Nothing rang any bells except one.
Male
Age: Unknown
Height and Weight: Unknown
Civilian seeking aid. Entered camp at 0200 requesting immediate assistance for female companion. Companion female mortally wounded. Stabbed sixteen times in the upper chest and stomach. Female companion expired despite efforts at 0432. Civilian male became enraged. Several soldiers required to restrain. Civilian male was taken to solitary for confinement. Expired female was identified as…
Claire made a small sound, "Jill!"
Sherry was nodding, sharp and fast. "Jill. Jill was here. Jill was here with an unknown man."
Claire glanced at Leon and shook her head again. "Not unknown. Wesker."
Leon took the manifest to keep reading. The body of the expired Jill Valentine was not found upon arrival of the evacuation team to take it away. It was missing. And so was the man who'd been carefully under guard in the solitary tent. Speculation was that he'd bribed his guards to release him and taken her body.
Claire said, quietly, "She's not dead. She's alive. I saw her in the Black Forest…she's not Jill anymore. But she's not dead."
Sherry queried, "They were here…but where did he take her?"
A sound from outside the tent drew their attention. Claire gestured with her head and Leon moved out into the boiling heat. It took about three seconds to realize that they weren't alone anymore.
A heavily cloaked figure was crossing the dying grass with a silver case in one hand. They'd ducked out of the final tent in the camp and were headed up the rise. What were the odds that Sherry's vaccine was in that case?
Leon gave chase, despite the shout of denial from Claire behind him.
He reached the top of the sand dune and shouted at the retreating figure.
A sound in the camp below signaled trouble for Claire and Sherry. He heard guns firing but he didn't turn back. He braced, drawing both guns from his thighs to aim them at the figure that turned back.
The hood of the cloak ruffled in the wind, giving glimpses of blue eyes and blonde hair.
Leon called, "Whatever you've got, drop it. It's not worth dying over."
The figure tilted their head and answered him. The voice was…odd. Was it almost mechanical? It sounded wrong. Empty. And familiar. "Isn't it? You came all this way for it. Will you take it from me?"
The answer to what was in the case was clear now. He wasn't leaving without it.
"Happily. Set it down and go. This is your only warning."
The figure laughed and little and tossed their head. The hood fell back, and he was staring into the face of Jill Valentine. The hair was pale like an albino and the skin pasty white, but it was her. She was outfitted for combat under the heavy cloak she wore. And muscled in a way that said she'd been training in the years since her disappearance.
Jill laughed a little now, eyeing him. "Come take it from me then. If you can."
What choice was there here?
He holstered his guns and dropped his knife into his hand. Jill tilted her head, like a curious dog. She set the case down…and waited. And Leon rushed her.
In the camp, Sherry and Claire were facing off with the dead that kept on rising. Only they didn't rise like zombies. They rose like something else. They kept trying to throw tentacles and combine with each other like some kind of flesh and a mutated jigsaw puzzle.
It was nothing Claire had ever seen before.
Where one was blasted, it reknitted and regrew. It suctioned to another body and started to blend. They could do little but shoot and run and roll and duck. Soon enough, four bodies were six and ten and then…one.
They were one massive thing that was rolling tentacles and shivering muscle with eight feet of slapping arms. A lab coat half hung off one arm as the thing moved toward them, kicking up sand and throwing gusts as it slid along the ground like a perverted snake.
It swung one massive arm, snapping it like a rubber band. Claire rolled and it hit the tent pole beside her. It brought the tent down in a flapping, crunching, noisy mess of burlap and wood. Sherry shot it in the back while it tried to take Claire with another swipe.
It snapped that arm back at her and hit her full in the face. She was thrown out like a dart. She hit another tent and took it down with her in a rush of collapse. Claire shot the tentacles in their nest of swirling centerpieces. She could almost glimpse something in the nest. It looked vaguely like an exposed underbelly on a cockroach. It was lumpy and pulsing and soft white within all the black.
The bullet grazed the squishy mass and the tentacle monster made a sound that resembled a cry of pain. It panicked, retreating as it made its way across the burning sand away from her.
Claire rushed toward the fallen tent to help Sherry to her feet. She watched her thrust her own dislocated arm up and back in place. There was a crunch and pop and Sherry made a small sound of pain. The girl was already healing the broken shoulder from her fall. They locked eyes in the blistering wind.
Sherry shook her head, "Not now! Please…not now!"
What kind of person could pop their own shoulder in place and heal it like that!? Claire couldn't stop the rush of fear from it. She dropped Sherry's arm like the girl was on fire.
The pain on that face would haunt her forever.
Sherry shook her head and ran toward the monster.
That's what had always scared her. That look on Claire's face. That horror mixed with fear. She'd looked at Sherry like she was…a monster.
They started to give chase to the monster in the sand and the sounds of battle reached them from the top of the rise.
Claire gave a shout of horror as they started running…and they'd never get there in time.
Admittedly, he'd never met anyone that moved better than Jill Valentine. She was fast and smooth and skilled. She spun low, came up, and hip tossed him.
Leon rolled free of it, spun out, and missed losing his head to her boot. He extended her leg, drove a punch into her groin, and tossed her to her back.
Jill scissors kicked out of the fall and knocked him around like it was nothing. He went onto his back, skidded, and grabbed the foot that stomped toward his face. He jerked, twisted, and rolled her beneath him. He put the knife to her eye while they both heaved out heavy breaths.
"Stay down, Jill. Let us help you. We can get whatever is in you…out."
Jill laughed and twisted. Her elbow came up and missed his face by an inch as she rolled, humped back, and tossed him off her. Her boots drove into his stomach and up he went like he weighed nothing.
Leon ducked and rolled through it, spinning out to sweep at her feet as she rushed him. Jill leaped over it, threw a roundhouse kick, and knocked him to his back in the sand. She straddled him and reversed the knife in his grip, shoving the blade against his sternum. It hit the tactical vest he wore and lodged there.
She taunted, "You can't win. You're done here. Give up and I will show you what it means to be powerful. Don't you realize what he can offer? He takes away the fear. He takes away the regret. He takes away the pain. He leaves you…hollow. And waiting for the truth."
He tried to see something in her face to reason with, but it was empty. Like a doll. Like a beautiful doll on the strings of a puppet master. There was nothing of Jill Valentine in her empty gaze.
Leon grabbed her arms and jerked her down. He head-butted her, feeling it ring down his neck as she rolled away and he humped his hips to launch himself to his feet. He grabbed her and put her in a headlock, kicking her in the back of the knee to spill her down.
"Jill…this isn't you. Do you hear yourself? You're loyal now to the man who killed you? Are you kidding?"
Jill laughed a little and reached behind her head to grab a handful of his hair. She rolled him over her shoulder and jerked, throwing him out and away. The power in her wasn't human. It was laced with something else. Whatever had kept her alive all this time had eroded the woman she'd once been.
Leon rolled through the sand, missed the boot aimed at him, and scissored his legs to grab her hips and jerk. She spilled down atop him and he pinned her there, octopus hugging her against his body. She laughed, letting him.
"You still hesitate to kill me? Why? You and I were never friends. I have no memory of you. I am nothing to you. Why do you hesitate?"
He looked into her face from inches away. "Because Claire is my friend."
Claire's name echoed on her face. She twitched, shaking her head like a fly had landed on her ear. She shivered. And then she laughed.
Her hands shifted against his body. He had a moment to know it was coming and the pain exploded in him. The knife she drove into his stomach felt like fire made flesh. She jerked it clean and shoved it home again. He kept on holding on to her.
And she laughed in his ear. "You will die trying to protect me…for Claire?"
She jerked the knife out and shoved it into him again. The wet of the blood on the sand at his back was hot and sticky. He breathed against her delicate ear, "Wouldn't you…for Chris?"
And now she froze.
She froze atop him. He felt her hand slip off the hilt of the knife. It was lodged above his right hip. Her head came up to look down into his pale face.
She blinked and shivered. Her ears filled with tears. "Chris?"
The pool of blood widened around them. He was dizzy. He heard the shouting from down below. The cavalry was coming. "Yeah…Chris. He went insane looking for you, Jill Valentine."
Her name made the tears tremble and fall to her porcelain cheeks. She cupped his face and whispered, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Tell him…tell him to find Ricardo Irving. Don't die. Please…don't die, Leon. I'm so sorry."
She left the knife in him and rose. Claire and Sherry were racing up the hill toward them. He caught a glimpse of something jewellike and red in the neck of her robe. Jill touched it with her hand and shook her head. "I don't have long. Irving…and Uroboros. Don't forget. Don't forget. I will take care of the B.O.W."
She raced across the sand away from him.
Leon tried to shift, and the world dipped around him. He was bleeding too badly for that. He rolled to his side and slipped in the soggy sand. It was saturated with blood.
The case was in the sand a few feet from him. He crawled now, dragging a line of blood like a tail behind him. He was dizzy as he grabbed for it and missed. He went to his face in the sand and felt the world slip away into the dark.
Claire reached him first. The sounds of fighting filled the air around them. The cloaked figure was fighting the B.O.W. in the distance.
Ignoring them, Claire jerked him over onto his back into her arms as she spilled to her knees beside him. She shouted to Sherry, "Radio for an evac! Hurry!"
The blood was everywhere. The sand was pink with it. She threw a hand over his stomach where the knife was lodged. She didn't dare pull it free. It was likely the only thing keeping him from bleeding out completely.
Someone was sobbing. They were sobbing. The moment she realized it was her, Claire tried to stop the crying. But she couldn't. She smoothed his hair back from his pale face. "Wake up…wake up, Leon. Look at me. Please."
She watched him breathe…and stop.
"No…oh god…Sherry! Where is the chopper!?"
Claire laid him in the sand and started CPR.
Sherry turned back from the call to HQ and froze. She froze and watched the sand kick up around them as Claire pushed on him and shouted to her. "Help me! Hurry! Sherry, help me!"
Sherry was frozen. She was frozen. So much blood. It was everywhere. It was all around him. As Claire pumped, more spilled from his stomach. Claire was weeping. She'd never, ever, seen Claire cry before. She was crying as she pumped on his chest and shouted at him.
"Not now! Not like this! Come back to me! Do you hear me!? Come back to me, Leon! Leon Kennedy! Look at me now!"
Sherry sank to her knees in the sand, frozen there.
It was love, she thought desperately, that's what love looked like. Claire loved him. It was all over her like perfume or poison or skin. It was flesh and bone and blood. She loved him. It was in her face and her hands and her desperate weeping. It was in her mouth as she gave him air and begged him not to leave her.
Don't leave me, Leon. I need you. Don't leave me.
That was what years and years of love looked like. That's what real love looked like. The kind born in a dirty city and nurtured over years of friendship and failure and laughter and loss. How did she ever think she could keep him in the face of that love? Claire LOVED him. And Claire was her world.
Claire looked at her again, desperate, "Please! Sherry! Help me! I can't keep going alone!"
Sherry shook herself free of the horror and raced toward them. She slid in the sand and took over. Her heart hurt. It hurt as pressed and breathed and bled inside. The love for him nearly killed her where she knelt. It was echoed, painfully, on Claire's beautiful face. Sherry didn't know how to NOT love him. It was all she'd ever done. Apparently, it was all Claire had ever done as well.
Sherry breathed into his mouth and whispered, "Please. Please don't give up. Please."
That, please. It filled his head and stole his soul. He gasped in the sand and jerked like a landed fish. Claire sank to her knees and wept with the relief of it. She covered her face with her hands.
Sherry felt the tears spill wet and slow down her cheeks. She cupped his cheek as he gasped and breathed, shaking. She whispered, "…thank you. Oh god, thank you."
Two women, covered in his blood, kneeling in the sand beside him That's what it looked like to the chopper that touched down in the twisting sand to extract them saw. It's what Chris saw as he leaped free to help them.
It was love for the idiot on both of them. Pure and painful and real.
The medics stabilized him as they airlifted away. Sherry held the case in her lap with her back against the wall. He'd nearly died to get what was inside this case. She was afraid. She was so afraid to look inside and find the answer.
Claire was leaning back against the wall beside her. She had her eyes closed and was breathing hard and fast. Sherry wanted to hold her hand but the fear she'd seen on Claire's face held her back. She didn't think she could handle that rejection from her.
But she had to know the truth here. She had to know.
She said, quietly, "You love him."
Claire turned her gaze to the girl beside her. She held that solemn look in a face red with blood.
And she answered, "I've always loved him."
But not the way Sherry did. Never like that. If she'd have thought of it, she'd have said it aloud. But she didn't. She just...left it at that.
And killed the girl beside her with it.
Sherry felt the hitch of her breath and nodded. She didn't cry. The pain in her was too deep, too wide, and too profound for that. She clutched the case to her chest and rolled her eyes away to stare off into the horizon.
It flickered in pretty green trees and rolling white sand as Chris guided their chopper away into the clouds.
Claire was her world. She'd been her only friend for as long as she could remember. Claire was everything. She was so good and honest and loving. They'd betrayed her by carrying on their affair behind her back. Not on purpose, no. Not like that. She would never have touched him that first time, ever, if she'd known Claire was in love with him.
Sherry felt her breath catch on a small sound of pain. She would never have touched him. The idea made her feel empty and broken. It stole her breath and made her cold. What would she be without him? If she'd never touched him, what would she be?
She stared into the trees, and couldn't find an answer.
So, instead, she started talking. She told Claire all about her blood and the mutation in it that made her a B.O.W. She told her about the experimentation and the training. She spoke of the missions she'd done and her healing abilities. She explained why she'd never told her before and that she was terrified it would mean the end of their friendship.
Claire grabbed her hand and squeezed. Her look was fierce now as they held gazes. "I'm sorry about before. That was stupid. It was reaction. It was wrong, Sherry. I'm sorry. It doesn't change anything to know it. Do you hear me? You're my sister. My SISTER. The only one I've ever had. The blood of it never mattered. Not where it counts."
They held on and Sherry put her head on Claire's shoulder. They wrapped arms around each other and clung. And they listened to the sound of the heart monitor that beeped and let them know the man they both loved was still alive.
He awoke in the tank of goop. It shouldn't have surprised him. It was where they poked you when you were dying, clearly. But he was spending a lot of time lately floating in goop.
The door whooshed up and Sherry came in. This was getting to be a familiar scene. Entirely.
She hit the button and he was sucked out of the tube.
It dumped him naked into the chamber. He hadn't even been in boxers in the goop this time. Stark naked.
Sherry was fully dressed. She wore a sweater in soft pink and jeans that belled at the bottom. The floppy neck of the sweater framed her face and the curls of her blonde hair. She offered him a fluffy white robe.
Amused, he lifted a brow at her.
She remained resolute. "Please."
That, please. It would be the death of him.
He took it and put it on, belting it at the waist. "Good enough?"
"Yes. Thank you." She leaned against the door and crossed her arms over her chest. Curious, Leon studied her.
"You got the case?"
"I did. There was no cure."
She didn't sound…she didn't seem…something was WRONG here. His alarm bells in his head were signaling. Something was wrong. She didn't seem destroyed by it. How long had he been in that damn tank?
Gruffly, he intoned, "I'm sorry, Sherry. I'm sorry. I thought…"
She shook her head. Her eyes sprang with tears and she lifted a hand when he took a step toward her. "Please don't. Please. I…it's fine. It's fine. The case didn't have a vaccine. It had information on someone named Irving. A black market weapons dealer who trades in B.O.W.S. We're funneling the information to the B.S.A.A. to look into it. There was also…"
She reached into her back pocket and tugged out a small compact. She tossed it to him and he caught it. He didn't even leave down at it. He kept on staring at her.
What was wrong here? What was happening?
He took another step toward her and she…retreated. She retreated from him.
She backed off and turned her back on him.
His hand curled around the compact and squeezed.
Sherry shifted to another wall and leaned, watching him. "You don't know what that is?"
"No. Should I?"
"You should. It was tucked into that case with your name on it."
He glanced down at the compact. It was nothing special. It was gold and had a pretty butterfly engraved atop it. When you opened it, it had shimmery powder in it. He studied it, turning it. There was a kiss mark on the pretty mirror inside it.
Curious, Leon touched the kiss mark. The compact made a small sound and spit a tiny memory chip out the bottom. It was in the shape of a cocoon.
Sherry lifted a brow at him. "No idea huh?"
He glanced up at her. She still had her arms crossed. Her face…what was that on her face? She'd never looked at him like that before. There was NOTHING on her face. Tears sparkled in her ears which made a liar out of the cold demeanor.
What had happened while he'd been in that fucking tank?
He offered her the chip. "No idea. Don't believe me?"
"No."
"Take it. Go ahead. I don't know who left it. I don't know who wanted me to find it. I don't know any fucking thing about it."
She stared at him. He stared back. He could feel the hammer of his heart signaling anger…and maybe something else. What was that? Fear? What was he afraid of here?
The look on her face, obviously.
"'What's happening here? What's wrong?"
Sherry shook her head and pushed off the wall. "Keep it. You'll need it. Claire and Chris are already tracking information on Irving. Who was it that tried to kill you back there?"
He held her gaze. "Jill Valentine."
Sherry jerked and blinked. "What?"
"Yep. It was Jill. Why? Why was she there? Why offer us a red herring about a cure and then leave that case with that information? Someone is playing games here. She's under Wesker's control, no lie there. But why? And what was the purpose of sending us there?"
Sherry shrugged and turned away to pace back and forth. He watched her, unsure of his footing here. She didn't want him to touch her, clearly. But why?
Sherry said, quietly, "Why didn't she kill you?"
And now he shrugged, fingers curling around the small chip to press it into his palm. "I don't know. I mentioned Claire and Chris. It seemed to…halt…whatever is happening in her. She showed emotion. She showed regret. She said to tell Chris about Irving. She seemed like she was trying to make amends. I think we need to start digging around in Africa and looking for clues about what's happening there."
Sherry turned back and met his eyes. "I agree. So did Chris and Claire. They're digging. You know what happened here, don't you?"
Leon tilted his head, watching her. "What happened here?"
"Excella set us up."
Yeah. He knew that. He'd known it the moment Jill had met him on that rise. The question was: why? What was she playing at? Was she working with Wesker? And to what purpose?
The questions were endless here.
And there were no answers.
Leon took a step toward her and she backed off again.
And it was enough. "What the fuck is happening here, Sherry?"
Sherry shifted where she stood. She rolled her lips in and nibbled them. She was nervous now and uncomfortable. She finally said, "I have to go back. There was no cure, Leon. So, I have to go back to Simmons."
"Like hell you do."
She winced at the anger in his voice.
"I do. I'm sorry. It's what I have to do. You know I'm right."
He took another step toward her and she backed away. It rolled in his blood like rage now as he kept on moving. She lifted a hand to stop him and he grabbed it. "Damnit, Sherry, stop running from me."
He pulled her forward and into him. She made some sound and stood stiffly in the circle of his arms.
He might have let her go, might have, but she started shaking.
She started shaking while he held her. She shook like a leaf. He grabbed her chin and turned her face up to him.
"Talk to me. Tell me. What's wrong here?"
She shook her head and two small tears plopped onto her cheeks.
His thumbs shifted and swept them away. "What is it? Tell me. Simmons?"
She shook her head again. Her hands lifted and curled around the neck of the robe. She gripped it, breathing fast and low.
"Is it the cure? I'm so fucking sorry about it. We'll keep looking. I won't stop looking. You know that. You know I won't."
She shook her head again. And again. And again.
Leon cupped her face and kissed her closed eyes, first one, then the other. It was tender. It was loving. It broke her fucking heart. A small sound escaped her mouth.
He kissed behind her ear, sweeping away the tears that trickled down her cheeks. He…soothed her. He soothed her so gently.
She was so in love with him. It hurt her. Loving him hurt her.
And she finally spoke, "….this is done."
He went still against her. The silence was so loud. It was painful to hear it.
He spoke so low it dragged from his chest. "What?"
She let go of his robe. She lifted her hands and drew his away from her face. She pushed them against his chest and held them there. "…we're done."
It was a whisper. It felt like a roar. It felt like a grenade tossed into the center of the room to destroy them.
She wouldn't even look up at his face. She stared at his collarbone. She held his hands against his chest and said it again. "We're done, Leon. This is done. I'm sorry. I'm done."
She let go of him and turned away.
He didn't move. He couldn't move. Why couldn't he move? He felt rooted to the spot. He looked down to see if he was stuck in glue or something. He wasn't. But he couldn't move.
Sherry trembled but kept walking. She said, over her shoulder, "I'm sorry. Thank you for everything. It's time for me to go. Good luck in Africa."
The door whooshed up. The door whooshed down.
He stood in the room and couldn't move.
Even after the light above him winked out.
Sherry took two steps and then three down the hallway. She took two more. She made it ten steps in total and the door beside her whooshed open. Claire and Chris emerged, laughing and talking about something on the tablet he held.
Claire glanced up at her. She froze. Her smile slipped away, "Sherry? What is it? What's wrong?"
Sherry said, woodenly, "It's done now. I have to go back. And it's done. I'm so sorry, Claire. I'm so sorry. He's yours again. All yours. I'm sorry."
Claire jerked like she'd struck her. "Sherry…what did you do? What are you saying?"
"I'm sorry. It's done. I have to go."
She passed by them. She didn't look back. She walked stiffly down the hallway. She didn't do anything but move. Fifteen steps. Twenty steps.
Claire shouted after her, "Sherry! WAIT! Just listen to me!"
She emerged onto the tarmac and got on the chopper.
She belted herself in.
She'd given him back. It was how she showed Claire she loved her. She'd given him back. It was the right thing to do. It was done. She'd given him back.
It was done.
She was still a monster. There was no cure. And there was no Leon Kennedy.
She was alone again in her gilded cage.
Alone.
She'd given him back.
She put her face in her hands and fell apart. The pain of it broke out of her mouth in a keening sob. She drew her knees to her chest and buried her face…and wept.
Because giving him back was going to kill her. Knives could kill her. Guns couldn't kill her. She was a monster. She was unkillable. She was still a monster.
And losing him was going to kill her.
Sherry sat alone in the chopper and died inside from it.
