Now that he had gotten closer, David was better able to scrutinize Kevin. As Kevin drooped over the counter, he could tell these last couple years were tough on him. Thick, coarse stubble clung to his jaw line. Now that he recalled, Kevin always had stubble. It seemed that a recent attempt had been made to remove it, albeit it had been a poorly executed one.
His hair seemed disheveled but on closer inspection it had been trimmed in the back not too long ago. The top had a wild pattern yet somehow it fit his rugged features.
When it came to Kevin's eyes however, he felt a twinge. Dark circles creased around his eyes and David had a good idea what those were from; nightmares of those damned freaks had a habit of destroying a good night's sleep for him as well. Hell, anybody that survived Raccoon City would probably never sleep again, he concluded.
He almost didn't notice it; there was no light in Kevin's eyes. Someone once told him that 'the eyes are the window to a person's soul'. If that truly was the case, it seemed that his soul went on vacation. They were dull, lifeless and shifty as soon as anyone got too close. This was hardly something he thought he would see in Kevin. He recalled a moment in the RC Police Department of fiery, confident eyes that sparked with determination. This was a far cry from the man he once knew.
David also recalled at that moment that they didn't particularly like each other back then. Both were headstrong and would wind up trying to do things their own way. He could only hope Kevin was too smashed to notice; the last thing he wanted to be involved in was a bar fight.
"So wut have you been up to, my man?" Kevin struggled to keep his speech together.
"I'm a janitor."
"Oh, that's swell." Kevin sat and puzzled for a second. "You used to be – lemme see…a plumber right? Like Mario!"
"Yeah."
"Sweet! Janitors don't have butt cracks showing." Kevin cracked a grin at his lame joke. His face straightened, and looked serious for a moment. "You know, crack kills." he laugh was boisterous.
"That's why I wore a jumpsuit" he almost said, but let the retort drop. Instead he followed up with his own line of questioning. "So what do you do now?"
"I'm a beat cop. It sucks, but it's what I do best, I guess." He swirled the drink around in his glass and watched the sweat bead onto the lacquered wood counter. "I never did like desk jobs."
Almost instantly a coaster miraculously appeared under the drink, along with a shot of disapproval from Linda, the barmaid.
"Sorreeee" he mouthed, then glanced back at David. "Hasn't looked like you've changed at all. It's kind of…reassuring, I guess. After all that shit from RC, It's nice to know that some things don't change." He went back to staring inside his glass. Then he popped it up and finished it in one long gulp. "Gimme another and a chaser, and I'm gonna hit the road." declaring to the bartender. Just like that, it was there. It was gone almost as quickly too; the drink went down impossibly fast.
Turns out that Kevin did hit the road afterwards, but not the way he had intended. David had no idea where he lived, for ironically he had no ID on him. So, he pulled a few strings to have Kevin's motorcycle stay at the bar overnight while he dragged his limp body into the backseat of his car. It was a clunker, but god be damned if he wanted puke in the backseat. That shit lingered for months. He made short work of Kevin, depositing him on the bench and slamming the door shut. He just hoped that he would stay unconscious long enough for him to get back out of the car. He had no intention of finding out what the contents of Kevin's stomach were.
David actually lived fairly close to the bar, so it took him no time at all to get there. Kevin still was passed out in the back, a slow snore emitting from his throat. Now, all he had to do was get him up out of the car…than up the stairs; one, two, three. Shouldering Kevin was actually pretty easy to manage, even doing most of the work. It seemed that he had lost some weight over the years... Then, into the house, down the hallway, and - flop - onto the bed. He pulled some blankets out of the linen closet and tossed them over Kevin.
He thought that the bedroom would be the fastest access to the bathroom, since they were adjoining rooms. The couch was harder to navigate – by prior experience – so he decided to sleep on the couch. He didn't mind at all; actually he found himself sleeping more and more on the couch lately, anyway. He kept the doors open between rooms so that he could see Kevin (now curled up into a ball and snoring louder) in case he needed anything. Then, sure that everything was in place, he drifted to sleep himself.
It was a vivid dream, much like the ones these past few nights; running down the hallway craning his neck around the turns as not to run into someone – or something unexpected. Those freaks again, clawing and chasing after him. Each of the zombies had their own unique battle scars; one limped, dragging one foot behind him because it was twisted awkwardly at the ankle. Another suffered a gaping head wound, brain and black ooze trailed down its face. A woman was missing an arm and most of her innards, as she tripped on them in her pressing gait. They all had that vacant stare, their eyes glazed over and dead. There were too many, far more than he could count.
Then he was in the sewer. Don't go that way, he thought to himself, but he always did. It was the only way to go, the only way not already blocked off by the hordes of zombie freaks coming after him. He knew all too well what the tunnel held for him; a dead end, the ladder too high to reach and only a magazine of bullets left. This was his perpetual hell. His nightmare.
This time it was different.
"Move. It. Or. Lose. It!" was the cry, as several potshots whizzed over this shoulder. When did this happen?
"I said MOVE!" he yelled signaling David to the exit, still firing off bullets from his '45. A tell-tale blue officers' uniform blazoned with the RPD insignia, the stance, those eyes…
"FUCK!" shots fired.
That mouth. David tore around behind Kevin and fired off a few rounds himself.
"I've got ya covered. Get up the ladder so we can get out of here!" Indeed, the ladder was accessible now. How'd that happen?.
David didn't want to leave him. He didn't want Kevin to be the last one out. He certainly didn't want a cocky young hotshot cop saving his life, just to hang it over his head later. "I can handle this!" he yelled over the gunfire.
"BULLSHIT! I told you to get out of here, or I'll shoot you myself!" he cocked the gun and pointed it toward David, driving the point. Those eyes, he thought, groping up the ladder. Fiery, determined; like a forest caught in a sea of flames. He could tell why he was so close to being on the STARS team, as he had always boasted.
"Oh, FUCK OFF ALREADY!" More shots. David unfortunately could also tell why he didn't. Badgering your superior officer and aggravating fellow coworkers wouldn't get you too many positive marks. Besides the attitude, Kevin had all the right attributes; excellent marksmanship, quick on his feet, and fast with his thinking.
"Son of a bitch!" he yelled, and tossed an empty magazine into the approaching crowd. He turned and practically flew up the ladder, almost meeting David at the landing.
"See that wasn't so bad at all. You just got to listen every now and then." Kevin smiled wide and slapped David on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of this hell hole."
David awoke suddenly, hearing an eerie sound emanating from his bathroom. Collecting his senses, his thoughts flooded back from yesterday – after all, he could hold his liquor - and remembered the visitor he'd brought home with him. Another retch confirmed that Kevin was indeed in the bathroom. David hoped he had made it to the toilet without incident.
Pushing his ear to the door gently, he could hear Kevin mumbling curses under his breath. Something dawned on him from the fading traces of nightmare now receding from his mind: A memory nagging at him, not far from that horrific place and time. Deep in Raccoon City, on that fateful night…
Kevin had saved him.