Crowded streets are cleared away
One by One

A grunt left him as he slammed his back into the concrete wall behind him, holding his magnum close to his chest, barrel pointed upwards, his finger resting on the trigger. His eyes narrowed as he turned his head to the side, just out of sight of the helicopter's search light, and looked out of the alley he had closed himself in. His heart hammered in his chest, on a near permanent adrenaline rush that came with his job. Maybe he'd retire this year... Or so he had told himself, and always would tell himself for the rest of his life. And yet every year, he lived through another three hundred and sixty days of hell. Those other five days were when he was asleep, total throughout the year, so they didn't count towards the "living through" part.

He frowned, looking towards the screams that echoed down the streets. Unlike all the other times he'd come across a city overrun with the reanimated corpses of what were once the people living there, this one was being slowly doused in fire to eliminate the threat. Bullets weren't wasted on the undead, but on the living to ease pain—how thoughtful of the organization that had brought about the need for higher volumes of bullets.

He watched the people in Hazmat suits walk past, each holding a flame thrower, spraying liquid fire everywhere. He felt his clothes stick to his body from the heat, gripping his gun just a fraction tighter, ignoring the itch from his light brown hair pasting itself to his skin. He needed to focus. He needed to find her, get her to safety.

Hollow heroes separate
As they run

His communicator bleeped in his ear, and he licked his lips as he sunk further into the alley. His free hand inched up to accept the call, a wave of irritation rolling through him at the compromise of his position. "Hunnigan. Not exactly the best time," he muttered quietly, eyes trained on the line of those sweeping the streets for what remained of the infection that plagued the town—or worse, picking off survivors.

"I know it isn't, Leon," Hunnigan's sympathetic voice said through the com, "but I thought you'd like to know that there are signs of life in your hidden storm cellar. I can't tell who it is, but it might be worth investigating."

"Right," Leon muttered, brow furrowing. Who would have found his cellar if not her?

"Leon?" Hunnigan asked when she didn't get a response.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said good luck. I hope you find her."

Leon's chest squeezed slightly at that. "Thanks, Hunnigan," he answered before he flipped the call off and crouched behind a dumpster. How would he get past them?

His answer came in the form of a Hazmat coming down the alley, checking it. Taking careful aim, Leon shot at where the helmet met the rest of the suit, watching the body crumple to the ground. Wasting no time, he moved from behind his hiding spot and began yanking the suit from the dead body, putting it on in quick, jerky movements. He shifted, setting the helmet in place before picking the flamethrower up, as a precaution. He had to look the part of the psychotic exterminator, didn't he? Before he turned to leave, however, he thoroughly sprayed the body in flames, hoping to make it unrecognizable. He could almost feel his skin burn where it touched the suit. The feeling of Umbrella, apparently.

Leaving the alley, he headed in a different direction than the line slowly making its way to the far end of the city and headed for where he knew she would be... If it was her.

You're so cold
Keep your hand in mine
Wise men wonder while strong men die

Keeping out of sight as best as he could, he arrived onto the scorch mark that had once been his home. He glanced at the metal swing set that she had insisted on for the younger Kennedy whom had roamed the house which had previously stood there. He shook his head and headed for the cellar, pulling the Hazmat helmet off as he went.

Upon opening the door, he almost wished he hadn't. Inside, instead of who he had been hoping for, he found three bodies... Technically two and a reanimated corpse, but that needn't be told to others. A woman stood over two men, each with bullets in their heads, and chunks of flesh missing from their bodies. The woman swayed on her feet, eyes blank, and only the most guttural grunts leaving her throat. Blood soaked her face, but it wasn't like the undead cared about personal hygiene. They didn't look at themselves in the cracked mirror, adjust the blood-stained collars of their shirts, and say, "Maybe I should clean up before I go dine on some poor, unfortunate being who wasn't smart enough to leave quicker." Mostly because zombies don't talk.

Scrambling to remove the Hazmat enough to pull his gun out, Leon backed out of the cellar slowly as the woman approached. Why have leftovers when the delivery guy was right there? Leon cursed himself and his inappropriately placed sense of humor. He was never funny unless on borderline hysteria. When it became apparent that he couldn't get his gun out fast enough, he looked around quickly, never taking his eyes off of the woman for more than a few seconds at a time.

Show me how it ends, it's alright
Show me how defenseless you really are

His eyes fell onto a shard of wood, only three inches long and two thick, but it would be better than nothing. With a carefully calculated roll, he lifted the shard as he jumped to his feet. He moved quickly, trying to avoid the woman as she lurched forward, his hand coming up to land a blow on her head, knocking her back far enough for him to straighten up and adjust his grip on the shard. When she lurched again, he mustered up what strength he could as he swung it towards her, piercing her skull. She fell to the ground, brain too scrambled to find the motor function to get back up and attack a third time.

Leon panted as he looked at the body, head jerking up when he heard the groans and grunts of the other two beginning to get their bearings. He didn't have many bullets, he knew that. He also knew that gunfire would likely draw unwanted visitors. But there was more ammunition in the cellar, even some food and water that he knew he needed... With a frown, he pulled his gun free of the suit, as well as kicking the rest of the damn thing out of the way, and made his way down into the cellar. The smell of decay was pretty bad, worse now that the air de-fresheners were mobile. A couple of bullets ended that fight before it could begin, and soon Leon was filling a backpack with food and ammunition, as well as several bottles of water.

He glanced at the bottle of whiskey he had on the shelf, debated with himself, then pulled it down. He yanked the cork from the neck of the bottle, downing a few swallows of the burning liquid, only to upend it and create a trail from the two corpses to the door of the cellar, watching with a small ounce of glee as the highly flammable liquid splattered onto the wood of the floor he'd set down himself several years prior. Memories flickered through his mind as the amber liquid soaked into the wood: when he had first showed her the cellar; watching the way she organized things within the place to make it livable should the need arise; watching her with their son playing on the carpeted floor, their daughter giggling happily.

Shaking the thoughts away, he stood up straight by the door and pulled out a lighter. He squatted down, setting fire to the alcohol trail, his eyes somewhat dead as he watched the cellar light up in orange flames, burning the memories with it.

Satisfied and empty inside,
Well, that's alright, let's give this another try

He watched the fire for several minutes, making sure nothing would come crawling out after him, and turned away, worry gripping his heart. What if he never found her? Or worse, he did? He narrowed his eyes, clenching his jaw as he kept walking, checking his gun as he did so. It wouldn't do to run out of ammo after only one shot.

Days passed, crawling by, as Leon hid and watched the city he had called home for four years go up in flames around him. Shells of buildings were left behind, unsafe to walk through and completely uninhabitable. There was no sign of her anywhere, a double-edged knife to his psyche. He had little to no hope for the children the two of them had created, and found himself looking at the picture of the four of them he had in his wallet.

One night, he jerked awake and looked around, wondering what had awakened him. He stiffened when he heard something rummaging around a garbage can, his brow furrowed. The undead were scavengers, but not for actual food... Unless they had evolved, and hahaha, he slayed himself with his humor. Withdrawing his gun from its holster, he pointed it in the direction of the can as he got up slowly.

It was another woman, her hair matted and turned into a rat's nest. She was looking through the can, holding a small body to her. Leon frowned a bit. Had she found that in the garbage? The thought made his stomach roll. He seemed to relax slightly when he heard the body let out a cough and a soft whine for food.

"I know, Beth, you're hungry." The woman said, and Leon's breath hitched quietly. Was it really her? "We have some crackers back at the shelter. But we need to find something for Sam too." The woman paused and looked around, as if feeling she was being watched. "Whoever you are, get out here."

If you find your family, don't you cry
In this land of make-believe, dead and dry

Leon slowly stepped out, gun still held in his hand. "Claire?" He asked, just loud enough to be heard. The woman froze, lifting her head. The look of pleased shock that crossed her face filled him with hope, even if only for a moment. "That is you, isn't it, Claire?"

Claire shifted, holding Beth closer to her body. "Yes... Leon?" She asked, as if not recognizing the man she'd been married to for four years. Beth wriggled in her mother's arms at the mention of her father, at the sound of his voice, and Claire had to shift her again. "You're not infected, are you?"

Leon came closer, watched as she took a step back. "No, Claire, I'm not." Claire still hesitated, but approached him. When she was within arm's reach, he pulled her and Beth close, burying his nose into Claire's hair. He couldn't care less how filthy she was at this particular moment. She was alive. "Where's Sam?"

"He's at the shelter we managed to make," Claire said after a moment of hesitation. Leon frowned a bit. "Leon, I don't think he was bitten, but he's not himself either."

"Show me." Beth coughed in Claire's arms as she led Leon to the shelter she had made. It was mostly just some pieces of sheet metal and a car door, but it kept the elements out. Sam laid on the ground, wrapped up in a blanket, his skin feverish. His light brown hair clung to his forehead, and he writhed in the blanket, his tiny body wracked with shivers.

"How long has he been like this?" Leon asked after a long moment of watching his son. He knew what was happening. He'd either been bitten or scratched, and was beginning to change, even if he wasn't dead yet.

"Two, maybe three hours." Claire said softly. She froze, turning to look at him. "You can't possibly think..."

"I don't think, Claire." Leon murmured. He knew what had to be done, but could he really shoot his own son? Could he really bring an end to the life he had helped to create just those three short years ago?

"L-Let's wait. It could just be a fever, Leon. We can't..." Claire trailed off, tears rolling down her cheeks at the thought. Leon wrapped his arms around her, knowing he'd most likely regret it.

"We'll wait until morning," he assured her softly, looking at his son with tears of his own in his eyes. Leon pulled away, setting the backpack down and beginning to make some tinned soup. He helped Sam eat while Beth sat in his lap after she'd been fed, playing with her small doll while Claire got cleaned up.

Beth was put to bed, curling up against her brother sleepily. Sam had another blanket on him, and Leon really hoped it was just a fever, though he knew otherwise. Shifting, he laid down beside Claire, wrapping an arm around her.

You're so cold, but you feel alive
Lay your hand on me one last time

Claire turned in his arms, kissing him lovingly. "Leon, I've missed you," she whispered, her fingers brushing his chest. Leon shivered slightly, his hand on her hip. "Please, Leon, make love to me," she pleaded.

Leon kissed her soundly, wishing they were back home for this, instead of in a crappy shelter that would surely fall apart after a few days. Home, where he could undress his wife slowly and completely, lavish attention onto her, the attention she deserved. Instead, they were here, common sense dictating that only the minimum amount of clothing should be removed in case they needed to make a getaway.

His pants were undone, pushed down his thighs just enough to let his cock out into the air. Claire stroked him to hardness as they kissed, and Leon was reminded of their first time in the back of her dad's Cadillac. He kissed her a bit harder as his hand moved, wanting her to at least be aroused for this. He was mildly surprised to find that she was already wet.

Claire let out a short, quiet laugh as she moved to push her panties out of the way, infinitely glad that she almost always wore skirts. "C'mon, Leon..." she whispered, arching as he pressed into her slowly. He kissed her again, rubbing her shoulders when she shivered. She felt cool, but he chalked it up to it being nighttime. He began moving after a moment, thrusting slowly into his wife. Slow or fast, it wouldn't matter. He'd been too long without release with her, and it would end shortly. Still, he would hold out as long as he could.

Claire didn't seem to mind, actually seeming on edge like him. Their coupling didn't last long, and he was soon withdrawing from her, using a part of his shirt to clean her up before tucking himself away and wrapping his arms around her, hoping to keep her warm.

Show me how it ends, it's alright
Show me how defenseless you really are

Leon woke the next morning, groaning softly, and moved to pull Claire closer, though his hand was met with empty air. Frowning, he snapped his eyes open and looked around. There wasn't anyone in the shelter. Getting up quickly, he headed outside, gun ready.

He found Claire kneeling next to a couple of freshly dug graves, sobs wracking her body. She looked so frail and helpless... "Claire, what happened?"

Claire shook her head, wrapping her bloodied hands and arms around herself. It took several minutes of coaxing to bring it out of her. "H-He was eating her, Leon."

Leon pulled her into his arms, rocking back and forth with her as she sobbed. "Leon, you need to shoot me," Claire said after a long time, her voice void.

Leon stiffened. "Why?" he asked.

"Because, Leon, he bit me," Claire whispered. Leon clenched his eyes shut, pulling her tight against him. It wasn't fair.

Satisfied and empty inside
Well, that's alright, let's give this another try

By the time the sun set, there were three fresh graves next to the shelter and Leon sat near them, his back pressed to the burned out husk of a building, his head tilted back to look at the red sky. His legs were drawn up slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, his magnum in his right hand. His shoulders shook after a moment, and try as he might, tears began to trickle down his cheeks. He lifted his left hand, trying to hide the fact that he was crying, regardless of whether he was alone or not.

After the sun had set, he stood up, taking one last look towards the graves before he headed out of town.

Show me how it ends, it's alright
Show me how defenseless you really are

"Leon! Wake up!" Claire said, shaking his shoulders. She sighed, looking down at her husband, who had been encased in a cold sweat for quite some time. That hadn't been what had woken her, but the sounds of him crying did.

Leon jerked awake, sitting up suddenly, his chest heaving. He looked around, confused. Hadn't his home been burned to the ground? Hadn't his wife and children died? He jumped when Claire wrapped her arms around him from behind, kissing his shoulder.

"Was it another memory nightmare?" she asked him quietly, rubbing soothing circles along his chiseled abs and chest, enjoying the feel of it as she comforted him. When he shook his head, she kissed the base of his neck, sucking at the small knob of his spine there. "Tell me about it."

Show me how it ends, it's alright
Show me how defenseless you really are

And so he did. He told her all of it, though had to stop several times when he found himself at a loss for words. Claire waited patiently, listening to him and murmuring reassuringly several times throughout the story.

She looked up when she heard the door open, smiling slightly at Sam, who had Beth with him, helping her to walk, even if he wasn't one hundred percent stable himself. "Did you have a nightmare too?" she asked softly. When Sam nodded, she patted the bed, and Sam walked over with Beth. Leon lifted his daughter up, cradling her close as Claire lifted Sam, kissing his forehead. "Why don't you sleep in here with Mommy and Daddy then? We'll keep you safe."

Sam yawned, already drifting off. Beth cooed softly at her father, and Claire smiled softly. Beth dropped off soon, however, especially with Claire's humming. When Beth was asleep, Claire looked at her husband, moving carefully to kiss him. "Everything's alright now, Leon. Umbrella's been down and out for five years now. You had a nightmare and nothing more."

Leon nodded, watching her drift off to sleep. He watched his family for a while, willing his heart to slow down, his heartbeat seeming to echo the words his wife said.

It's alright... It's alright... It's alright... It's alright... It's alright... It's alright... It's alright... It's alright... It's alright...