RE: Inclination
A/N: Ah the things that life gives you that are unexpected. Apologies for the break in posting. I really do try to write ahead and make sure I can post fairly consistently, but... sometimes things just sort of come up. Also, this particular chapter would not cooperate when it came to timing. Two things started me writing this story - the Degeneration movie and a fan MV. It was another fan MV that saved this chapter from its doom. If only would let me link youtube videos, I'd post it for you all to check out here. Since it won't, I'll do it this way. User: "varisanubi" made a vid of the song "Karaoke Soul". That saved this chapter. The original MV that helped spurn this was by user: "ValTanner" and was titled "Claire's Hero, Leon's Heroine". I do, ftr, have a slew of MVs that pick me up when the writing's down.
All I could find out about Degeneration was that it was set in 2005, so I picked August. Also, if you're curious, I think Harvardville is in Utah. Having been to Utah in August, I believe this location. Thoughts?
May 2006
Leon felt better that she ate something, but even the food didn't change that Claire wasn't talking. Leon didn't like the idea of it, but he didn't feel like talking either.
He retreated to the pilot's deck to avoid the silence of their mutual not-talking.
They were going to be rescued.
Extracted.
Sometimes, this was the worst part of his job, the worst part of what he'd sold himself into for Sherry's sake. This was the part that he usually ignored by making a really bad joke or by pushing onwards. Somehow the end was always a bitter, unsatisfying thing that he had to swallow. Usually it wasn't this bad. When he had an appropriate mission instead of being presented with a mystery in the course of daily life. When it was work and not supposed to be normal… it wasn't bitter like this. Most times, when he'd managed to stop something from happening… it was almost ok.
But there just wasn't anything gained from this.
No. That was the cold voice speaking, the part that didn't care about anything beyond survival the way most of him did.
Or was it?
Leon's knees felt weak. They didn't shake, but he sat down anyway. The surface of the water hadn't moved since the boat had stopped, and so he was fairly sure there was nothing lurking to try and swallow any of them whole. His body reminded him, rather forcefully, that he was tired. His muscles were sore from tension – he always tensed even though he knew better – and from the strain and the wounds he was still healing from before his vacation.
Maybe the cold voice was right. Surviving wasn't gaining anything back. It shouldn't be. Living through another day… shouldn't be like this.
The raw feeling came back, strong like the nausea that came after a stab wound. Leon took out his phone. When he touched it, the GPS screen activated. Hunnigan's coordinates were marked with a flashing dot.
Starting the engines again, he found the headlights and turned the yacht in the direction of the glowing dot. Leaning back, he let his brain drift while his eyes stayed trained on the water ahead of the ship, just in case of anything … lurking.
It felt like it wasn't long, but the light from his phone flashed differently. It must have been at least an hour since his zoned gaze had turned to dozing.
The GPS coordinates weren't far off. Leon stopped the engines and let the boat drift for a short time. It was better than approaching the shore, given the givens. It was included in the texted instructions, afterall, and Hunnigan was pretty good at getting protocol correct. The Australian… what, Navy? Coast Guard? Did Australia have that? Something would come out to check on the boat that was drifting off shore from them.
As the boat slowed he heard the first, faint noises that he knew were helicopters on their way. There wasn't even any point in starting the engines again. The radio crackled from the dash beneath the steering area, and the instruments began to attune to the frequency. It had been silent until that point, no other radio traffic coming in range of their boat, or just too quiet to take note of.
Despite the occasional break in the quiet, Leon heard the door of the cabin open over the radio chirping.
Turning towards the lower deck, Leon wasn't too surprised to see that Claire had come out from the interior. The children were absent, as was Oscar. There wasn't a lot of light, but the outline was definitely Claire's. He'd known it in the dim halls of the airport easily. In Harvardville, she'd been instantly familiar to him. He hadn't wanted, then, to admit how easily he'd known it was her.
The radio static burst came again, this time there were words cut off in the noise. Leon did his best to ignore, but the cold part of him was paying attention to it. "…SAA, ETA… …lock and…"
"Leon," Claire called up. He could hear the wariness in her tone.
He made his way down the ladder, figuring that the approaching helicopters would drown out his voice before long. As he landed at the bottom, jumping the last few rungs, Claire was there to meet him.
"What's going on?" she asked.
She looked as tired as he felt. Her eyes were watery, a bit. He wondered if it was the post-stress relief or the anguish of setting aside… "The BSAA are headed for the island."
"Why'd you stop the boat?"
The radio static squawked again, and the noise of the helicopters grew louder. Overhead four helicopters sped past. Leon turned his eyes to them for a moment, trying to pick them out. Two looked to be MI-24s, two appeared to be AH64-As. That would be the BSAA and their compatriot contingents, the cold part of his mind supplied. Leon nodded a little, the cold part of him satisfied, and refocused all of his attention on Claire.
As the loudest of the noise faded, he started to offer her an answer, but the noise level dipped for a moment before growing steadily louder. Again.
Leon tried to ignore it. He tried to focus on Claire, to give her a reassuring look or to muster a smile, but it was a futile attempt, and he knew it. The cold part of him was already swiveling, turning to look up at the helicopter.
"Attention in the yacht," a crackling command came from the helicopter that was, now, circling them slowly. "Your craft is entering from an area of quarantine. Prepare to be boarded."
The beam of the helicopter blew out the colors on either of them. Leon knew from experience that a person could not be deemed infected or clean from that vantage point. He glanced at Claire, and she made a reluctant noise. Both of them slowly lifted their hands in acquiescence to the squawked command of the pilot.
Leon thought he could even hear the first splashes and the motor noise of whatever boat was coming to collect them, but it was probably just his imagination. With the helicopter so close, he could barely hear himself as he shouted to Claire, "We're going straight to a hospital of some sort, you realize?"
Whatever response she had was lost to the noise of the helicopter circling overhead. And then it didn't matter that he couldn't hear the ship approaching them, because he could see the headlights of it coming towards them. The light cut across their washed out bodies and tried to blind them. This part he hated. Being treated like a prisoner – eyes blinded by lights, held in suspicion of infection. He knew it wasn't Claire's favorite thing either, but unlike in Harvardville, he had no clout to get them treated better.
As the chopper overhead circled, Claire took a step closer to him. It kept the wind down some. Leon had to keep himself from putting his arm around her shoulders. He wished there was something he could do about this part, but even the cold voice was silent about that.
Both of them were fresh out of an outbreak, and they looked it. They'd be treated like anyone else who wandered out of somewhere unsafe, but what was inevitable wasn't palatable. He wondered, or rather the cold voice in the back of his head wondered, if this particular quarantine would be better or worse than the one he'd had to go through after coming back from Spain.
"Announce the number of your group to the first responder captain of the ship that is approaching," crackled the electronic voice from overhead.
"Looks like the cavalry," Claire said, close enough that her raised voice could be heard over the beat of the helicopter. She motioned with her head to the group of men gathered on the edge of the ship that approached them.
"Hn."
He couldn't figure whether the quarantine would be worse overall. He wasn't the post-infection victim he had been then, but Claire had a fresh wound. It would be… bittersweet, he figured. He tried to tell himself that anyway.
August 2005
As they came out of the airport, there was a field of light to blind them. After their eyes adjusted, gas-masked marines with guns stood waiting. Their weapons were raised, trained on the group of them as they came out.
Leon stopped first, Claire behind him, one arm protectively around Rani. The attendant and the senator's aide were between them and Angela, who kept looking over her shoulder towards the terminal they'd just left behind.
One of the marines came forward, then three, all in a group. Their guns didn't waver as they did so, until it was obvious that the people that the group of them were not zombies. They might be infected, but at the least they were not an immediate threat.
He knew the standing orders on survivors in a situation like this. Those that were infected but not turned were herded into a separate group, but not terminated immediately, in case by some off chance they were could be saved.
The cold voice knew that what that really meant was one of two things. Either the infected survivor was immune, and in which case they were liable to end up as a blood donor for further experiments towards a more consistent cure for the T-virus, or they were in for study towards the spread of the infection. The T-virus, from reports that he'd read, had a consistent spread in the body, but if the victim didn't expire from the contraction of the virus (as was often the case, zombies tended towards major arteries when they attacked) then the time from infection to death and death to zombie return was varied.
As a line of marines entered the terminal behind them, another motioned them forward.
Claire followed Rani to the fence and Leon watched, disturbed by the scene. He'd never had anyone to run to in a situation like that. There was no one to fuss over him, at the end of the day.
And then a lab coat wearing someone walked over with an escort of armed marines. A throat cleared behind him, and Leon turned to the man in question.
"Agent Kennedy," the man said.
Leon frowned, but nodded.
"Were any of your party bitten?"
"No."
"This way."
In processing. Leon hated it. As much as he could for being so familiar with it.
May 2006
The bright lights turned into people, and as a rope was tossed across to the low railing, Leon bent to secure the line. The rope was followed by several HazMat suited people – it was impossible to tell if they were men or women – descending to the rear deck of the yacht. They were watched over carefully by several similarly costumed people wielding guns from the upper deck of the ship.
Leon reasoned it was the Coast Guard. Micronesia was officially off his list of future vacation destinations. At least, the cold voice consoled him, there were markings on the bio-safety suits that the people approaching them had on. Markings that he could recognize and reproduce. Claire shuffled a little behind him as they approached, and from the way she moved, he knew she was tense. What was she expecting?
"State the number in your party," one of the muffled, nasal voices from the two suited men said.
"Five," Leon replied.
"Was anyone injured?"
"Yes," he admitted with a frown. Claire stepped up a little, expression grim.
"Bitten?" the muffled voice asked.
"No," he said. He glanced over at Claire. One of the suited people seemed to be looking her over curiously.
In the distance there was a cracking noise. He and Claire turned towards the noise, but it was too far away to see any direct result other than a brightening in the dark sky.