Chapter Five

Claire realized several things very quickly. Vincent was an impossibly sharp shooter. Every shot went where he wanted. It didn't matter if he was walking, running, jumping, falling, or saving her butt from a too-close zombie. When he took aim, the zombie got hit. In the head.

Once she realized that, she dropped to a complete support role without a word. She covered, picking off the zombies that got through his spray of bullets. After several minutes, she felt confident enough in reading his shots that she never shot at his target. Or maybe he was just that good at reading her.

Once zombies stopped coming at them in the streets, Vincent moved them into the first house. They went through it systematically, shooting each zombie that crawled and moaned toward them. The whole town, Claire realized, was fairly small. There were five or six modest cottage-sized homes. An inn and tavern. A small grocer. A weapons shop. A materia shop. And an apothecary with potions and anointments.

Roughly 60 people dead because of Umbrella. In the tavern she found the source of the spill. A very dead man with an Umbrella logo on his jacket. Around him were broken vials. Claire stared at the spilled virus for a long time.

"Burn it," she said finally. "We have to burn the city to the ground."

"No. Not us," Vincent said. He pulled a phone from somewhere, and dialed a number. "Reeve. There's been a viral outbreak in Stocth. The town needs to be burned to the ground. All the residents are dead." He paused, listening. "Turned into zombies." Another pause. "Yes, I found her." His eyes met Claire's. "No. I'm keeping her."

Claire choked, mouth opening in protest. Keeping her? What was she? His new pet?

Vincent hung up his phone. "Let's go."

"Go?"

"To the Umbrella pharmacy."

Claire swore under her breath. "What about this place?"

"Reeve will take care of it." He loaded his gun, then took the Griffin from her and reloaded it before handing it back to her. (He'd loaded her gun twice during the fight, simply plucking the weapon from her fingers and remedying the low-no ammo problem).

"I –"

He holstered his Cerberus, and glanced toward the sky. It was brightening with the first blush of dawn. "Listen –"

"No. You listen. I have to –"

Vincent picked her up, movement swift and unexpected. He carried her as if she were a new bride, motions gentle but firm. She could hear his metal shoes striking the cobbled streets, could feel the cool warmth from his body, and the hardness of his metal claw against her body. Then he was at Cloud's bike. Without putting her down, he kicked the side-compartment closed. Then dropped her onto the bike while raising it up.

"Impressive," Claire said, in spite of herself. He swung onto the bike, and she swung off at the same time.

Vincent opened his mouth, and Claire had the pleasure of seeing him realize that he didn't know who she was. Then his eyes narrowed, and it was almost like she could see him playing back every second he'd ever spent with her. "Claire . . ." he said finally.

Her name on his lips. Perfect. It made her heart stop beating and her brain shut off, a complete victim to lust.

Her face must have gotten really blank when her brain shut off though. Vincent cocked his head to the side. "That was what your friend, Leon, called you. Is that not your name?"

Claire swallowed. "Well –"

"Is your name Claire?" Vincent interrupted.

Hearing him saying her name had approximately the same effect as the first time, and Claire decided it wouldn't be a good idea for him to call her that. "Redfield," she said. "You can call me Redfield."

"Surname?"

"Oh yeah," she said. "I don't want you calling me Claire."

He frowned. "Then you'll call me Valentine."

"Yeah right," she said. "I have a friend named Jill Valentine, and I won't call you Valentine. I'll call you Vincent."

Vincent shifted on bike, expression unreadable. "Then I'm calling you –"

Claire launched forward, slapping a hand over his mouth. "You'll do no such thing," she said, eyes sparkling with fear and desire.

Vincent moved – one of his lightning fast motions that left Claire's eyes seeing a trail of red. He caught her around the waist, pulling her forward until she was lying across his lap. Then he fired the bike up and floored it.

Claire screamed, certain that her head and feet were too close to the ground. "Vincent, you bastard! You tricked me! You deceived me!"

He laughed. She could just feel the vibrations in his body.

"Oooooh! Don't you laugh at me!" she shrieked, volume stolen by the wind. She clung to his leg, praying she wouldn't fall, and furious at herself for getting caught.

Then Vincent grabbed her, somehow swinging her behind him. "Hold on," he ordered.

Claire debated refusing, but he hit a small bump and she feared she'd go flying off the back. So she grabbed him, tight, pressing her body against his back, and burying her face in his cape. At least she didn't have to taste flying dirt.

And his cape, in spite of the tattered and dirty appearance, was actually soft and silken and seemed pretty clean. For several minutes she muttered angry curses into his back, but then the steady thrum of the bike and the blur of scenery started to work its magic.

She'd worked a full shift at the bar before Cloud and his crew turned up. Then she'd had her miniature fiasco with the zombie. Her flight on Cloud's wicked-cool-but-hard-to-handle bike. Then the elimination of a town's zombies.

Her arms, currently clinging to Vincent, were sore from driving the bike and wielding a man's gun. She wiggled a bit, adjusting her grip on Vincent and closing her eyes for a second. It must have been longer than that though because all of a sudden she was jerking awake, realizing that her grip had slackened to the point where a good bump dislodged her. Falling, she didn't have even have time to scream.

Then Vincent caught her, somehow keeping her from landing face first on the hard concrete of the road. But her head was still very close to the ground, one of his hands wrapped around her waist.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the bike come to a stop. Vincent didn't shut it off. As soon as it stopped, he pulled her back onto the bike. Slowly she opened her eyes, fully aware that she was more or less sitting in his lap. Her eyes traveled from his chest to his face, finally coming to a rest on his eyes. A blush crept up her body, flushing her face with a mottled red.

Vincent brushed some hair out of her face. "Tired?"

She bit her bottom lip, nodding a little.

"Try and stay awake a little longer. We'll stop at the next town."

"Okay," Claire said, still to mortified to say more.

Vincent adjusted his grip on her, using his clawed hand to support her position on his lap. Then he started speeding again.

Claire, wanting to never get that close to falling of a bike again, wrapped her arms around him. Holding on as tight as she dared. The blush coloring her cheeks refused to go down. How f*cking humiliating, she thought. And in front of Vincent of all people. It was even worse than doing something stupid in front of Leon. Leon would have let her escape with a "you're just not that experienced" type line. But Vincent didn't know what kind of experience she had. And while she couldn't possibly impress him after that, she still wished that she could go back in time and make him realize that she could handle herself on a bike.