Chapter Text
A lone jeep sails down the highway, spraying a plume of rainwater into the night.
It's September twenty-ninth. Four days since Leon was supposed to start as a Raccoon City police officer and five since he got a call telling him to stay away. The caller, David something or other, failed to specify why. Apparently, there's an 'ongoing situation' in Raccoon City, but that's all Leon knows. Ever since that call, it's been nothing but radio silence. Not even a day on duty, and they've already benched him.
Congratulations on the new job, Kennedy.
Fucking congratulations.
Despite the orders he'd received, which were sketchy at best, Leon decided to drive on down to Raccoon City anyway, if not to find out what's going on then to get away from his old life. So here he is, orientation letter feeling impossibly heavy in his jacket pocket and the red arrow on the gas gauge wavering towards E.
Does he have a plan? Not exactly. He grabbed his keys, his wallet and flew out the door. No lease on an apartment, and as things stand, no guarantee he'll even have a job tomorrow.
Impulsive, foolish boy, his mother would scold.
Improvisation is a key skill, though, and Leon is fucking great at it.
Leon frees a hand from the steering wheel to fiddle with the radio, lowering the volume as he pulls into a Mizoil gas stop. The pattering against the roof ceases as the jeep rolls beneath the shelter. Just as he cuts the engine, another car swerves into the gas stop, tires hissing on the rainwashed road as it parks along the row of pumps adjacent to Leon. He doesn't need a speed gun to know they were going well over the limit. It's an Oldsmobile Delta Eighty Eighty, which Leon spends a millisecond admiring before its driver throws open the door. With a shock of blond hair, out clambers a man no older than Leon.
He's wearing ray-bands at night, Leon exasperatedly observes as he gets out too.
“Going a little fast there.” He comments, shutting the jeep door behind him.
That startles the other driver into almost dropping the nozzle, fumbling clumsily with it before promptly drawing it to his chest and gawking over the dispenser between them. He must have been seriously lost in thought to have only just noticed Leon.
"What?"
"There's a national limit for a reason. I'm just saying, go careful."
The man's eyebrows arch downwards like Leon's just suggested something completely absurd and unreasonable before wordlessly turning away.
Rude.
"You know, " Leon persists because he doesn't want to read about a smashup involving a white delta in the news tomorrow, "statistically speaking, the risk of a fatal accident is increased by 34% in the rain. Wherever you're heading can't be more important than your life."
“Got it.” comes a curt response.
Leon resists the urge to roll his eyes and unscrews his fuel tank. That's quite enough responsible police officering for one night. He'll figuratively take off the cap until tomorrow on what might impressively be both his first and last day. Exciting stuff. Tonight his main priority is quite simply finding someplace to crash, which will most likely be the back of his jeep or the first motel he sees. It'll score him no points to go barging into the station at ridiculous o'clock at night to badger tired police officers.
The fuel dispenser whirs to life as he squeezes the switch, watching the other man do the same before letting his gaze drift lazily around the area. The hum of a running engine reels his attention over to an empty police car near the front of the store, its passenger door hanging wide as if somebody leapt out in a rush, leaving the interior dome lights to shine like a giant 'steal me' signal.
“That’s weird.” He mutters.
There are only two reasons Leon can think of why a police vehicle would be left unattended like that; carelessness or an emergency. It's hard to write it off as carelessness when faced with the bold, blue letters printed on the side declaring the cruiser belongs to the Arklay Sherriff.
Alarm bells ringing in his mind, he hooks the nozzle back on the dispenser and warily rounds his jeep, stomach clenching tightly upon discovering blood splattered over the ground. Emergency. Definitely an emergency. Put the figurative police cap back on. How the fuck did he not see this when he pulled in?
Rainwater has slipped beneath the shelter and diluted it, but there's still a distinguishable trail of red bootprints leading up to the main entrance. The inside is disarmingly dark with all the shutters down, contradicting the rectangular 'yes, we are OPEN' sign dangling in the glazing.
Yeah, those alarm bells sound way more like klaxons.
“Oh, what the fuck.”
It's Leon's turn to jump out of his skin, getting reminded with a short jolt that he's not currently alone. The other man hovers near the bonnet of his delta, shoulders hiked in a fight or flight manner as he spots the blood shimmering in the dim glow of the under-canopy lights, quickly piecing together that Something’s Not Right™.
"Stay back." Leon orders, holding out one hand. "This might be an active crime scene."
"Might?" The man's voice skyrockets somewhere high-pitched and squeaky while his gaze flicks incredulously between the blood, the abandoned car, and Leon.
“Just – get back in your car and lock the doors. I’ll check it out.”
“What, hey wait, no, I’m not staying out here by myself.” The man protests, chasing after Leon.
Admittedly it's mildly terrifying out here. A void of darkness orbits the gas-stop, with a dotted line of streetlamps fading away into the distance and an icy mist rolling in with the rain. The gore doesn't help.
Still, he shakes his head. “I think you should leave. It's safer that way.” He states in his best authoritative voice.
“What about you?”
“Don’t worry. I can handle myself.”
“Said the idiot protagonist in every horror movie ever.” The man mumbles sarcastically. “Fine.”
He checks over his shoulder to make sure the guy is actually leaving, only to instead find him headfirst in the police car.
“Hey! What’re you doing?”
"There's usually a taser stashed in these things. If you're going to go in there alone, at least take a weapon." The man reasons, voice slightly muffled while he roots through the glove compartment. Leon blinks at the concern, mildly taken aback since he had this guy dubbed down as a total asshole. A second later, the asshole in question remerges and victoriously presents a taser. "Ta-da."
“You can’t take that.”
The man flashes him a mischievous smile. “What are you, a cop?”
“…Yeah.”
Shutters immediately slam down over that smile. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, and I’m not unarmed, see.” Leon pushes aside his jacket to reveal a gun stuffed in his waistband. “So, put that back where you found it, get in your car, and let me handle this.”
There's a smash from within the store, directing their attention onto the door.
"Okay." The man concedes, expression hardening into something unreadable behind those shaded glasses as he slides out the car - with the damn taser.
The severity of the situation must have finally sunk in since he finally listens and retreats over to his car, never once turning his back on Leon or the store. Leon waits with itching feet because he has this horrible mental image of exiting the gas stop in about ten minutes or so to find a murdered blond in loafers waiting for him outside.
“Drive safe.”
The man hesitates, tilting his head with a tiny frown, but Leon doesn't see nor notice as he crosses the distance over to the entrance, a sour urgency egging him on. A car door opens and closes behind him.
"Hey!" The man calls, prompting Leon to pause and peer back. The man leans awkwardly out the car window, drumming his fingers on the door. "Just uh..." He shakes his head. "Tell the owner I owe them for the gas?"
There's no saying what condition Leon will find the owner in, assuming he finds them at all. Right now, it's not looking too good.
"You got it." Leon offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile - which it clearly isn't since the guy's frown turns impossibly frownier.
Headlights wash over the area, faintly illuminating the inside of the store and accentuating the aligned contours of shelves before the delta drives away, leaving Leon in disquieting silence.
Taking a breath, he heads in to investigate, relatively satisfied that he's managed to at least get one civilian out of harm's way.
“Hello? Anybody there?” Leon tries, crouching to pick up a flashlight near the door and shining it around. There's more blood in here - fresh blood.
He needs to find those officers.
The door swings shut, cutting off the whistling wind. Leon pushes onwards, following the sound of laboured breathing that doesn't match his own. It comes in strained, hoarse wheezes. That's how he finds a man - one of the missing officers if the uniform is anything to go by - hunched over in the refrigerator section, clutching his neck.
“Are you alright?” Leon asks, eyes widening at the alarming amount of blood gushing between his fingers.
The officer doesn’t answer – Leon’s not sure he’s capable. Instead, he weakly raises an arm to point in the most foreboding way possible at an open door. Presumably, it leads to a stock room.
“Don’t move, I’ll come back for you.” He promises and slips through the door. Distantly, he can hear a struggle taking place.
It leads to a cramped corridor wedged behind the coolers. One the other end, past the fog curling from the refrigerators, a lightbulb flickers menacingly. Typically, it's above where he needs to go. Leon takes a step down the corridor, worrying snowballing in his gut at the sound of animalistic grunts, and -
The door he came through slams shut behind him.
"Hey! What're you doing?" Leon yells, juddering the handle to get it open again. It refuses to budge, and the officer on the other side doesn't breathe a word.
Leon feebly reasons that there's obviously a logical explanation for an officer locking him in here with a presumably dangerous threat. There must be. So, he keeps going, deciding he doesn't have time to debate the ethics of the matter.
He finds the Sheriff.
Or rather, he opens the door at the end of that cold, horrible corridor and interrupts somebody ripping into the Sheriffs neck. Leon can only watch in frozen horror as they glance up at his arrival, chewing on a stringy chunk of flesh.
He's too late.
Leon's never shot anyone before. Of course, he knows how to handle a gun; his aim was unmatched back at the academy. But training dummies are a lot different to the real thing.
The problem is when he shoots the person who murdered the Sheriff, a middle-aged man with scabrous grey skin and glazed eyes, and it barely has any effect, Leon feels somewhat cheated by his entire education. And while Leon's understanding of basic human anatomy isn't great, he's pretty sure a bullet to the head is fatal.
Somewhere around the third bullet, Leon quickly learns he's not dealing with anything human.
And then the Sheriff sits up.
Leon is so caught off guard by the fact the Sheriff is not only alive but also astonishingly unfazed by the gaping hole in his jugular that he almost doesn't dodge in time. The Sheriff snarls and hurls himself at Leon, who stumbles backwards against the shelves, knocking off a collection of boxes with a loud clatter. He gets viciously pinned in place, struggling to hold back the Sheriff, who has the same milky, unseeing eyes as that other man - no, creature.
It spread, Leon realises with a start. Whatever's wrong with that other man, he passed it on to the Sherriff, who seems to have lost all sense as he gnashes his teeth dangerously close to Leon's neck. If Leon doesn't do something soon, he has a feeling he'll be joining them.
Leon has no other choice but to push the Sheriff away, and with a heavy heart, fires until the Sheriff hits the ground, brain matter oozing out of his skull.
Oh, Leon is so losing his job.
Somehow, contrary to all reason, the Sheriff starts growling again. And well, there we have it. The Sheriff is fine. More or less. Time to go.
At a loss on how to apprehend things that shrug off bullets, he escapes back into the customer area of the store. As it turns out, that first officer did have a reason for locking Leon in the stockroom. In the minutes - minutes that he was gone, the gas stop has crumbled into a waking nightmare. More of those creatures crawl out from the shadows, driven by a primal need - including that officer, who staggers eagerly after Leon while he books it for the exit, twisting out of reach from decaying arms.
Dead. They’re dead.
But also, clearly, not dead.
Leon’s not going to say the word, the forbidden Z word.
He’s not.
But it’s a very fitting word.
Just as he reaches the exit, it swings open, and Leon instinctively jerks up his gun because maybe the dead can still open doors - who the fuck knows? There isn’t exactly a handbook for this. A woman in a red jacket throws up both hands. Relief bursts in his chest upon realising she’s got colour in her cheeks still. Alive. Alive. That means the chances of him being crazy just decreased significantly.
“Don’t shoot.”
There’s another one behind her, staggering closer with outstretched arms –
“Get down!”
It lunges, she ducks, he fires.
The body collapses against the concrete with a conclusive thud. Beyond thankful that only took one bullet, Leon hurries out the store, scanning their surroundings for any more. There's...a lot more.
“You alright?” He checks as she straightens up.
“Yeah, I think so…thanks.”
“You can thank me later, when we’re safe.”
Neither of them is quite sure where to aim first as a herd of those creatures corner them by the door. The nearest has no skin around its jaw, exposing two rows of jagged, yellow teeth as it growls hungrily.
“Holy shit.” The woman comments.
Leon feels that.
God – he stopped for gas. It was a pit-stop –
An engine roars over the raucous growls, and a car bursts from the shadows of the road, mowing down several of the dead. It clears a path all the way to the front of the gas stop before stopping with a sudden jerk. They both raise an arm to block out the bright headlights bearing into them. Leon squints past it, stomach flipping upon recognising the white delta.
A window rolls down.
“Well? Don’t just stand there. Get in already!”
That snaps the pair of them into action, sprinting for the car as the dead start to stand back up. Leon lets the woman take the front seat since it's easier to reach. He kicks one of the dead back and flings the back door open, practically throwing himself into the safety of the delta.
"I thought I told you to get out of here?" He exclaims over all the noise, dragging the door shut.
The blond man lets out a scoff, wrestling to get the gearstick into reverse. “Well, thank your lucky stars that I had a guilty conscious!”
“Drive!” The woman shouts as one of the creatures throws itself up against her window.
The delta lurches backwards and veers sharply onto the road, sending them all slamming into the car doors. The ear-piercing screech of tires against tarmac fills the air, then the car straightens, and they’re taking off past the pronounced 'Welcome to Raccoon City' sign. All of them wind around to peer out the back window, watching the gas-stop fade into the distance.
“Jesus...” The man exhales, pale-faced as he focuses on the road ahead.
"You came back," Leon states the obvious, still sprawled unceremoniously across the backseats; his muscles taut from anticipating a fight.
The man itches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, you looked outnumbered.”
Leon huffs out a short but relieved laugh and sits up. “Just a bit.”
“You two know each other or something?” The woman asks, glancing between them.
“No.”
“Yeah.”
They stare at one another in the rear-view mirror for a stretched second until the man rolls his eyes.
"We met briefly back there before shit hit the fan. I left and missed out on most of the action." He scrunches his nose up. "I think I accidentally ran over one of those things, though."
“Accidentally? You hit like all of them.”
There are muddy, red streaks on the bonnet to prove that.
“Right, yeah, no, that part was intentional. I’m talking about before that. Some guy walked into the middle of the road – missing an arm and half his face – not a care in the world. And I mean, I couldn’t stop in time, I was already going something like – “ He spots Leon’s slowly raising eyebrow, “ – like the legal speed limit, and bam.”
“You’re sure it was one of them?”
“Yeah, pretty sure.” The man stresses. “Because there I was freaking out about the fact I’d just murdered someone, except then this fucker gets back up with his head hanging sideways and tries to bite me. Which, fair, but…” he trails off with an irritated, flailing hand gesture. “Anyway, I figured Columbo back there might need a hand after all.”
Leon, quite maturely, refrains from pointing out that Columbo was never a uniformed officer, so they're not comparable.
“Well, thanks. You saved our asses back there.” The woman sighs, relaxing in her seat and running a worried hand over her ponytail, flattening the loose, flyaway wisps.
"No problem. Did you find those officers in the end?"
"Yeah, I..." The events of what happened in the gas stop loop through his mind again. A numbing sensation spreads through his nerves. "I shot the Sheriff."
"Ah." The man acknowledges, head bobbing forwards, apparently not particularly surprised or bothered by that. "Not the Deputy?"
Leon glares admonishingly at him.
“What the hell is going on anyway?” The woman asks.
“I don’t know.” Leon frowns. “Hopefully, they’ll have some answers at the police station.”
He does not miss the way the man shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“Wait, you’re a cop?”
He lets his gaze linger on the man for a beat too long before nodding. “Yeah, Leon Kennedy. And you both are?”
“Claire.” She introduces. “Claire Redfield.”
“Redfield?” The blond parrots, averting his eyes from the road to look her up and down. “As in Chris Redfield's sister?”
“Yeah! That’s me. You know my brother?” Claire’s whole face brightens. “He’s a cop, too.”
The man shrugs. “We’ve crossed paths a few times.”
"Was he giving you a ticket?" Leon teases, slightly nervous that he's not the one currently driving as he monitors the speedometer. This guy only seems to have both eyes on the road about 60% of the time. Claire is not-so-casually gripping the handlebar above her.
The blond seems slightly caught off guard by the joke (which really wasn’t a joke) before a hesitant smile twitches the corner of his lips. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a law-abiding citizen.”
“Alright, law-abiding citizen, you got a name?”
“Huh? Oh, right, it’s uh, it’s Ethan.” His eyes flick up to meet Leon’s in the rear-view mirror, fixing him with another unnerving stare like he’s searching for something. A reaction, maybe?
Is it because he's a cop? Honestly, unless they're currently riding with an axe-murderer, Leon's willing to overlook any form of petty crime that Ethan may or may not be guilty of. Dead people are walking. Bigger fish to fry and all that. Plus, as far as Leon can tell, Ethan doesn't seem bad. Sure, he's got a penchant for speeding, and he's a bit of an asshole, a bit reckless, but not bad.
So, why is he looking at Leon like he's waiting for something terrible to happen?
Leon could just be reading too much into this. They were nearly eaten by dead people a few minutes ago - Ethan just might be fucking spooked, understandably so. Or hell, maybe Leon's the one that's spooked.
Still, he holds that stare. “You live around here?”
Blue eyes dart back to the road. “Not anymore.”
“Me neither.” Claire chimes in, oblivious to the underlying tension between both boys – of which Leon’s still unsure whether he’s imagining or not. His cop senses are tingling. “Just out here looking for my brother.”
“Oh, is he okay?” Ethan asks with genuine concern bleeding through the previous closed-off tone.
“I hope so.” She sighs. “I haven’t heard from him in weeks.”
Ethan gnaws on his bottom lip. “S.T.A.R.S, right?”
“Right.” Claire tilts her head. “How did you…don’t tell me you’re a cop, too?”
That startles a laugh out of Ethan, apparently finding the implication highly amusing. Leon does too, but he has a sneaking suspicion it’s for a different reason.
“What, me? No. God, no. That place is a total circus show.” Ethan’s snickers peter to a stop upon catching Leon’s frown, the amusement sliding off his face as he clears his throat a few times. “No offence.”
“None taken.” Leon drawls.
“We have a mutual friend,” Ethan explains. “She’s S.T.A.R.S too.”
“Oh.” Claire nods.
The city looms closer. It’s shockingly dark. Claire stares out into the night, slowly wilting under the gravity of the situation while watching droplets track wobbly paths down the window like swollen veins.
“Whatever we saw back there…if Chris is caught up in it somehow…” she shakes her head.
“Hey, we’ll figure this out, okay?” Leon assures her.
The car pointedly and surprisingly slows down.
Ethan frowns at the steering wheel. “Look, I…are you sure about this? It’s not too late if you want to turn back. I need to get to Raccoon City, but I’m happy to drop you both off at uh…uhm…”
The only place nearby that isn’t an overrun gas stop is a long hike up Arklay mountains.
"Turn back?" Leon repeats, his brows furrowing. "No, we have to warn people and stop this thing from spreading. Our best bet is to keep pushing forwards. Going back through those things is too risky."
“We stick together,” Claire adds. “Safety in numbers, am I right?”
“Exactly right.” Leon agrees optimistically.
“Okay, noble. Counterpoint though: we just encountered cannibalistic monsters.”
Leon’s going to say it.
“Zombies.” He nods gravely.
Ethan looks physically pained. “Right.” He breathes exasperatedly. “Sure, zombies. My point is, while I’m a fan of this all for one and one for all system you’ve got in the works, there’s no guarantee that the city is safe.”
“We don’t know that it’s any worse than back there.”
“We don’t know it’s any better.” Ethan snips, flexing his fingers agitatedly around the steering wheel. “Those things didn’t just appear out of thin air.”
“You really think they came from the city?” Claire asks, worrying her lower lip.
“Where else?”
Leon thinks about it.
“The mountains.”
“The mountains,” Ethan repeats dryly. “That’s your theory?”
"Well, yeah." Leon's shoulders hunch defensively. "There are stacks upon stacks of reports concerning the unsolved homicides and attacks that happened there, some of which involve sightings of unidentified creatures. It's the whole reason I applied for a job here."
Claire snaps her fingers. “The Arklay murders, I’ve heard of those. They were gruesome.”
“See.”
“Okay,” Ethan holds up a hand. “Okay, so what you’re saying is, zombies have been hiding up in the mountains for years, but as of late, they all decided to migrate here to…take over a gas-stop?”
The sound of the engine rumbling reigns supreme for an excruciating few seconds, before Leon lets out a huff. "Maybe."
“Not just a gas stop; civilisation as we know it.” Claire valiantly backs him up. Leon points at her in a ‘she gets it’ manner.
“You know, I think I saw one of your mountain zombies wearing a Dunkin Donuts uniform. I didn’t know they had one of those up there.”
Leon rolls his eyes. “Shut up. There’s a lot of unanswered questions right now.”
“Like what came first, the zombie or the bite?” Claire ponders philosophically.
“The zombie, obviously.” Ethan immediately answers.
“Death or infection?”
“That’s basically the same question, but infection.”
"Oh, yeah?" Claire challenges. "In that case, if infection is the right answer, then bite is the right answer."
Ethan’s eyes widen by a fraction.
Leon glances between them from the middle of the seats. “They're separate things. It clearly goes infection, zombie, and then bite.”
Claire shrugs ominously. “Or bite, infection, zombie.”
“Well, that’s not how it happened in Night of the Living Dead.”
“Now you’re throwing necromancy into the equation.”
“Ergo…” Leon leans back contemplatively, scratching his chin. “Fuck science.”
“I think we’re getting off-topic,” Ethan says bemusedly. “Also, what are you talking about? There wasn’t any necromancy in Night of the Living Dead. That was to do with radiation.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, I’m pretty sure the highway code dictates that the driver is responsible for the rest of the passengers, and I can’t guarantee we’re not about to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire. So, if you want to get out or turn back, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“You’ve read the highway code?”
“Fuck off.”
“Why are you still going then?” Claire asks. “If you’re so sure the city is worse.”
“I have to pick up my sister,” Ethan explains, side-eying Claire. “Which, come to think of it, is a really weird coincidence.”
Claire raises both brows. “No kidding? In that case, you understand why I have to go too."
“Then it’s settled. Turning back isn’t an option.”
“It’s my car,” Ethan argues lamely. “But if you’re sure...”
Leon nods. "We'll have reinforcements once we reach the station, and I don't know about you both, but I'd like to get some answers."
Ethan scoffs. “You think the cops are going to know anything about this? About – “ Ethan pulls a withering expression. “ – zombies?”
“I don’t know, okay? I’m just trying my best here.”
“Hey, look at that. You do sound like a cop.”
“What’s your problem?”
“Alright, easy, both of you.” Claire interrupts. “Let’s just get to the station first and take it from there.”
Leon glares out the window. “Fine by me.”
The heavy silence that follows is borderline suffocating. Claire fidgets awkwardly in her seat for a few moments before nodding at the dash. "Do you maybe wanna put the radio on, or..."
“It’s broken.”
Leon’s jeep would never do this to them.
“Right.” She slumps in her seat, accepting her fate. “Great.”
‘Attention all citizens: Due to the citywide outbreak, you are advised to take shelter at the Raccoon City police station. Free food and medical supplies will be provided to everyone in need.’
Windshield wipers whir mechanically back and forth, furiously cleaning the rain from the delta as it rolls slowly through the deserted streets of Raccoon City. An automated voice relays a looped message on a nearby PA system, and all of them listen in horror-stricken silence while trying not to count the seemingly endless bodies lying face down in puddles that could honestly be either blood or rain. Leon doesn’t even blink when Ethan drives through a red light.
After getting the message drilled into them roughly three times, Claire shakes her head.
“Oh my god, this is unreal.” She comments, staring at the cars left askew on the side of the roads.
“The police station’s not much farther. They’ll know something.” Leon replies, perhaps somewhat pettily. Ethan, to his credit, doesn’t take the bait.
“Yeah, but…what if we’re the only ones? What if there’s no survivors – “
“No. There’s survivors.” Leon cuts her off. “It’s a big city…there has to be.”
There’s a blockade of yellow barriers up ahead – not that they’re strictly necessary when there’s a sea of smashed vehicles behind it. Somehow, the presence of cars is less reassuring than Leon feels it should be.
“Well, shit.” Ethan grimaces as the delta crawls to stop before the blockade.
“Looks like we’re walking from here.”
Claire leans forward, her brows knitting together as she peers out her window. Below a flickering streetlamp, two figures are busy disembowelling a corpse.
“More like running.” She corrects.
“Yeah, good call.”
There’s a loud thump against Ethan’s door, startling a yelp from the blond and rocking the car. A zombie pounds its fists against the delta, dragging its exposed teeth across the window and leaving a trail of gunk and bloody fingerprints over the glass. Before any of them can react, a second hurls itself against Claire’s door, and then Leon's.
“Ethan! We gotta back up.”
Hurriedly, Ethan tugs the gearstick into reverse, glances out the back window, and abruptly freezes. Light expands around Leon’s form and glints in the rear-view mirror, reflecting two rapidly approaching headlights. Leon twists around to see a truck bulldozing its way down the street, bashing cavernous dents into unlucky cars and vacuuming dark silhouettes of zombies under large wheels.
“That’s not slowing down,” Ethan says.
“Holy shit.” Leon breathes as the car shakes. “Get out. Get out now!”
All of them throw themselves at the doors, wrestling the handles and contending with the horde of rotting flesh.
“I can’t!” Claire panics.
There isn't enough time. The best Leon can do is push his door ajar before it's slammed shut again under the weight of three zombies. With a truck about to be right up their asses, well...
“Hold on!” He shouts, and then, “Ethan put your seatbelt on!”
“Right!”
Zzzip –
Click –
CRASH.
Glass shatters over Leon’s back as the truck collides with the trunk, thrusting the delta through the blockade like a giant, uncontrollable pinball. Its occupants are helplessly jostled in their seats before the delta smashes into something else. Hard.
The engine hisses and tinks hazardously. Leon’s astounded that it’s still running beneath the crumpled hood, blurrily discerning that they hit another car. Slightly dazed, he unfastens his seatbelt and bats the door until he finds the handle, wrenching it open. It groans like a wounded beast while he escapes out into the rain, landing on all fours and scrambling away as a waft of petrol hits him. The front door swings open too, and Ethan tumbles out after him, a leather satchel hugged between his arms. Leon automatically hauls the blond up on unsteady feet, managing to drag them both a few steps away before the delta goes up in flames.
Leon's forced to shield his eyes as an unbearable surge of heat lashes over his body, a stark contrast to the icy raindrops. Ethan makes a truly mournful sound, panicking Leon for all of two seconds thinking that the blond got caught in the explosion.
“My car!” Ethan laments, embers falling around him like hellish snowflakes.
He’s fine.
Averting his attention from Satan's new wheels, he inspects the damage done to the overturned truck, debating the likelihood of the driver being alive still. A massive fuel tanker is attached to the back, and flames greedily lick up against the reflective metal. A devilish spark winks at him.
Horror slams into his chest.
“Oh no…” He breaks into a run. “Ethan, get – “
An ear-splitting blast accompanied by a blinding flash flings the pair of them through the air like ragdolls. Leon’s back is roughly acquainted with the side of a car before rebounding onto the road.
Grit stings his cheek as he lifts his head, trying to shake the cotton wool from his ears. Distantly, car alarms are blaring behind the sound of his own thundering heart. There’s fire everywhere; flames leaping across the destruction like the whole place has been doused in gasoline, a ghoulish imitation of the scene mirrored in the windows of nearby buildings.
Cradling his middle, he sits up and winces as his ears pop with a sudden influx of noise alongside a harsh ringing, as if there’s a panicked worker in his brain pressing buttons at random to get his ears back online. He totters onto both legs, balance struggling to keep up with him. He needs to – he has to –
His eyes dart around the area.
Fuck –
Where is –
On the other side of the car that Leon got thrown against, a wet hand slaps against the bonnet, followed by a mop of blond hair and a disgruntled scowl as Ethan pulls himself up. There's a tragic, zig-zagging crack in the Ray-Bans, but honestly, it's impressive they're even still on Ethan's head.
“You good?” Leon asks, clearing his throat a few times.
“I’m suing,” Ethan grumbles.
That leaves –
“Claire! Claire, are you okay?” He shouts at the totalled delta.
The torturous silence that follows hits them both harder than the truck did. Leon and Ethan share a brief look of alarm, both trying to recall whether or not Claire managed to get out of the car before explosion galore. Leon's main concern had been getting himself out; adrenaline demanded that much, and there just wasn't enough time to -
“Yeah! I’m alright!” Claire’s voice finally responds from somewhere beyond the plumes of smoke. “How about you guys?”
“Ten fingers and toes still,” Ethan calls back as he takes off his broken Ray-Bans and tucks them in the collar of his shirt.
A chorus of growls reverberates around them, making the hair on the back of Leon's neck stand on end. Infernal figures sway through the caging flames, unbothered by their sizzling skin that stinks the air with something disgustingly close to charcoal and rot.
“We can’t stay here, it’s not safe.” Leon promptly gives up on counting the dead, concluding that there’s a small legion slowly surrounding them.
“Go on ahead, I’ll meet you at the station,” Claire replies since there’s no transparent way for her to reach them through the ever-growing wall of fire.
“We’ll be there.” He promises, albeit uneasy at the idea of splitting up.
He draws his gun and shifts away from the oncoming herd, retreating closer to Ethan who’s preoccupied with retrieving his satchel from where he dropped it during the blast. He turns to tell the other man to stay close, only to have his third heart attack of the past five minutes as a corpse unfurls itself from beneath a car like a giant, grotesque spider and lunges at Ethan’s leg. On reflex alone, he shoulders Ethan out the way and rapid fires at it.
“Jesus Christ – “
“Come on!”
Ethan slings his satchel securely over one shoulder, and they take off down the street, leaving the heart of the chaos behind them. A hungry crowd chases after them, growling and snarling, moving surprisingly fast for rotting corpses. The pair of them flounder to navigate a safe path through the maze of fire and abandoned vehicles, passing beneath a half-fallen utility post that creaks precariously.
They bound around a wrecked police car, and Leon passingly notes that one of the zombies is kitted out head to toe in swat-gear, the implications of that weighing heavily on his conviction that there’s still hope for Raccoon City. Red tire tracks pop against the tarmac, and Leon’s going to go out on a limb and say it’s not spilt paint. It originates from a jumble of cars up ahead, all of them arranged as if their previous owners were playing a poor rendition of Tetris.
Those cars curve all the way around to the police station, Leon realises. Survivors abandoned cars here to make a mad dash for the station.
Just like them.
While that (debatably) bodes well, it unfortunately also makes it easier for zombies to get the jump on them if they pass through, so making a split decision, he veers right towards a dimly lit alley instead.
“This way!”
His trouser leg gets drenched as his trainers splash through the gutter onto the curb, tactfully avoiding the minefield of rubbish that never made it to an overflowing dumpster.
“Shit, it’s everybody…they’ve all turned.” He swears as another rises in the alleyway, snarling as they approach.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the optimistic one?” Ethan snarks over Leon’s shoulder.
He shoots down the zombie. “Cut me some slack, it’s my first apocalypse!”
“Arguably more of an epidemic than an apocalypse – “ Ethan breaks off as Leon grabs a fistful of his V-neck and yanks him onwards.
They skid down a set of snaking staircases, temporarily taking shelter between the graffiti-ridden walls before exiting out onto the other side. There, across a zombie-infested street, bright white letters of the R.P.D sign shine like a beacon amid a storm. Hope frazzles dangerously in his chest like firecrackers.
“There it is…the station.”
Ethan doesn’t look as hopeful.
There’s a burning bus near the gates, its flames fighting furiously against the heavy downpour, suggesting the accident must have happened recently, if not at the same time as theirs. He desperately tries not to focus on the fact it’s a school bus.
Leon only has three bullets left, but the station is only a couple of yards away. They can make it. He blows uselessly at his soaked bangs, nods at Ethan, and together they leap off the pavement and make a break for it. They pummel down the road, squinting against the beads of rain pelting in front of their eyes. The fire illuminates a cloud of spectral mist hanging in the air, and as they race past, a zombie climbs out one of the shattered windows of the bus, splatting flat on its back.
The gates of the R.P.D loom closer, and Leon barrels into them, straining his muscles to get them open, instantly shoving Ethan inside with a frantic ‘move, move!’. The zombies that were all previously preoccupied with committing unabashed car theft are now hot on their heels, and Leon only just manages to drag the iron gates shut and draw the bolt across before they catch up. Zombies slam up against the bars, rattling the gates on their hinges. Even though Leon knows there’s no way in hell they’d be able to bring that gate down without a fucking tank, he still watches the squeaking bolts with a simmering wariness.
“Holy shit.” Ethan pants, bracing his hands on his knees. “Oh, Jesus – fuck. We made it.”
“Yeah.” Leon agrees, not quite as breathless. “We did.”
It’s a bittersweet victory. While they’re safely tucked away behind the tall gates of the R.P.D, Claire is still out there somewhere.
Alone.
“Do you think we should wait?” Ethan asks, apparently thinking the same thing.
Leon considers it but slowly, regretfully, shakes his head. “No, there’s no getting those gates open again. Not until those things lose interest.”
One of them snarls challengingly at him and slides down the bars as if getting comfy.
Ethan hangs his head and huffs out a nervous, high-pitched laugh while muttering something along the lines of Chris is going to fucking kill me.
The shadows from the bars stream up the stone past Leon’s shoes, a soft orange glow filling the space between them as the fire crackles away outside. Leon backs further into the courtyard. There are corpses draped out here – too many corpses. Somebody has made a clear effort to wrap each one in cloth and tape before leaving them to soak in the rain – if the stench is anything to go by, they’ve been here a while.
The R.P.D is a lot more imposing now that he's stood outside it. That may be circumstantial, though.
“Let’s head on in,” Leon says, jogging up the steps to the entrance. When he doesn’t hear Ethan following, he glances back in confusion, finding the other man standing in the middle of the courtyard with this strangely condemned look on his face as he stares at the gates. “Ethan?” he questions, flags flapping either side of him. “Are you coming?”
That snaps Ethan out of it, a brazen smile flashing across his lips that almost veils the trepidation swimming in his eyes. “Scared to go first?”
He scoffs. “More like scared you’ll get yourself killed if I let you out of my sight.”
“Alright, Officer Kennedy, lead the way.” Ethan drawls as he drags his feet up the steps after Leon.
Several of Leon’s organs do a collective flip – which really can’t be healthy – as he realises, that’s the first time anyone’s ever called him that outside of the academy (except for himself once or twice in the mirror). Abruptly, he’s reminded that this week was supposed to have gone a lot differently. He should be handing out parking tickets, sucking it up to his field training officer, all while looking for a new apartment. Not standing outside the station watching Raccoon City burn.
He sets aside the mournful longing for the future he was supposed to start here, deciding there’s no use dwelling on it yet when he should be focusing on things like survival. He catches Ethan staring at the gates again, a damned if I do, damned if I don’t air hanging around him like a tiny cloud.
“She’ll make it,” Leon assures him, hand resting on the door handle.
“I know,” Ethan responds quietly. “It’s not her I’m worried about.”
Leon blinks.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Feeling oddly offended, he purses his lips. That somehow felt like both a jab at Leon and a concern for their safety.
Without another word, he pushes open the doors and sets foot inside Raccoon City Police Department for the first time.