Chapter Text
A gentle hum of the Toyota 4Runner's engine blends with the steady swish of the windshield wipers, hypnotic enough to lull Chris into a drowsy haze. If he weren't driving, and if the radio hadn't interrupted Claire's favorite station with the same irritating advertisement every twenty minutes, he'd probably have been asleep by now. The soft patter of rain against the driver's side window isn't helping.
"...They're livin' it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)
Bring your alibis..."
"Hey, folks! Looking for some autumn fun? Don't miss the annual Moon and Maple Festival right here in Ashcombe!"
"Join us this weekend for our famous apple pie contest, homemade apple cider, and the grand opening of Ashcombe's Botanical Garden! Browse handcrafted maple syrup, artisanal candles, medicinal herbs, traditional remedies, and goods made with love by our local artisans. Bring the whole family and experience Ashcombe's hospitality at its finest!"
"...I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
'Relax,' said the night man.
'We are programmed to receive.
You can check out any time you like,
But you can never leave...'"
"I can't believe you talked me into this."
Chris pinches the bridge of his nose.
He isn't exhausted, just sleepy. Maybe it's the rain. Maybe it's the fact that he'd willingly crawled out of a perfectly warm bed before sunrise on a Saturday. The memory of crisp sheets, heavy blankets, and another hour of uninterrupted sleep tugs at him far more insistently than the road ahead.
"It wasn't easy," Claire admits with a grin, turning toward the back seat. "But Rebecca and I will be eternally grateful."
"The festival's medicinal herb exhibition," Rebecca adds, her eyes lighting up as she rests a protective hand on the herbarium case in her lap. A wooden specimen box sits neatly beside her. "And the botanical garden. I wasn't going to miss this either."
"Eternally grateful, Chris," she repeats with complete sincerity.
"Yeah, yeah."
Despite himself, warmth spreads quietly through his chest. Claire looks genuinely excited, and Rebecca practically vibrates with anticipation. It reminds him of when they were younger, when Claire would drag him to county fairs simply because she wanted someone to share them with.
"Besides," Claire continues, as though he hadn't spoken, "you could've invited someone too."
Chris downshifts as the road curves through the rain-soaked hills. He really loves this 2000 model. Manual transmission, plenty of space, the low hum of the engine. He never gets tired of this car.
"I did."
Claire raises an eyebrow.
"I invited you two."
She flips down the sun visor and checks her reflection in the vanity mirror.
"You know what I mean, Chris."
His mouth settles into a thin line.
He honestly doesn't.
"Jill's busy."
Claire catches Rebecca's eyes in the mirror.
"I'm not talking about Jill."
He frowns, genuinely confused.
"Then who?"
He doesn't need to turn his head to see her are you serious? look. He knows it's there.
"Oh, come on..."
Rebecca's gaze drifts nervously between the siblings, settling quietly on Claire.
"Claire..."
"What? I'm just saying. He could have invited Leon. He likes herbs. Weird little botanical museums. He would have loved this kind of stuff."
She turns around to face Rebecca.
Chris hadn't meant to react.
He really hadn't, but his hands instinctively tighten on the steering wheel. It lasts only a fraction of a second before the tension seeps out of his body just as quickly as it entered.
Rebecca notices.
Very little escapes Rebecca Chambers once she starts paying attention.
Claire notices, too.
Nothing concerning her brother ever slips past her.
Chris clears his throat.
"Leon..."
He pauses, choosing his words with unusual care.
"Leon is... special."
The admission surprises even him.
Had he paid attention to his sister, he would have seen her hand freeze on the vanity mirror, listening intently to every word.
"Well... if he's so special then why-"
"I just didn't. Okay?"
The words come out sharper than he intended, and the recovery comes in the form of a small, forced smile. His hands go slack on the steering wheel.
The inside of the car falls quiet.
"I just... didn't. I'm sorry I snapped."
He can't offer her any explanation. Not because he doesn't know why, but because he knows exactly why he didn't call him.
Him.
Leon.
The name alone stirs something instinctive inside him.
Over the years, Chris has become attuned to everything that belongs to Leon. His voice over a crowded radio frequency. His footsteps down a hallway. The particular cadence of his laugh. Even his silence.
He couldn't have pointed to the exact moment it happened.
It simply did.
Leon became the first person Chris looks for when he enters a room. The first voice he recognizes. The one thought that settles every restless corner of his mind.
For thirteen years, that has never changed.
Neither has the decision.
They talked about it once. A long time ago. Acknowledged what was there, then quietly agreed to leave it untouched. Not because it wasn't real. Because it was.
Their lives are measured in emergency calls, helicopters, body bags, and folded flags. Chris has buried too many people already. Sometimes he thinks he could survive almost anything, but he isn't sure he could survive burying Leon.
Claire watches the road and the orange autumn leaves scattered across the wet asphalt.
Then she says,
"You know..."
Chris hums, calmer now.
"I always thought you two would figure it out."
"We have."
Claire rolls her eyes.
"What are you talking about?" Rebecca asks so quietly Chris starts to doubt she even said anything.
"Oh..." Claire realizes, her face twisting into a guilty expression. "You don't know?"
Rebecca doesn't need to know. It's Chris's business and nobody else's.
She slowly shakes her head.
"I'm sorry," Claire says, her hand dropping to squeeze Chris's thigh apologetically.
He hums.
It's alright. Rebecca is a friend. She's not just anybody.
"Rebecca," Chris says, searching for her eyes in the rearview mirror, "Leon and I..."
He finds her reflection. Those steady blue eyes, attentive in a way that never judges.
"We care about each other," he says after a moment. "We have for years."
A pause.
It isn't enough. He knows it even as he says it.
Claire gives him a small, encouraging smile from the passenger seat.
"A long time ago," Chris continues more carefully, "we realized it was... more than that."
He exhales through his nose, glancing at the road ahead before meeting Rebecca's reflection again.
"We talked about it."
Another pause.
"And we decided not to act on it."
Silence settles inside the car, heavy but not uncomfortable.
Chris's voice stays steady, quieter now, almost reflective.
"We've just kept making that same decision ever since."
Rebecca frowns slightly.
"Chris... that sounds lonely."
Claire turns toward her, a faint, pained smile on her face that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"Right?" she says lightly. "That's what I've been saying."
"So... you still love him?" Rebecca asks.
The question startles Chris.
It catches in his breath before he has time to prepare for it.
Rebecca isn't asking out of curiosity. That much is obvious. He has just unloaded a truth that doesn't fit neatly into anything she'd been carrying before this drive, and now she's trying to make sense of it the only way she knows how. It just so happens she can only find the answer by asking the simplest question at the center of it.
His grip tightens on the steering wheel for a fraction of a second.
The car doesn't swerve, but his foot presses a little harder on the gas before he corrects himself.
Then, carefully, he exhales.
"Yeah," he says.
A pause.
"Yeah, I do."
Claire looks away towards the rain-streaked window.
Silence settles again, but it's different now. Denser. Quieter.
Her chest tightens for her brother.
And for Leon, too.
Because somewhere in the back of her mind, she knows Leon's answer would sound no different.
Neither of them says anything else. Chris remains quiet for the rest of the drive. Claire, for once, lets the silence settle without trying to fill it.
In the back seat, Rebecca has drifted off, her head resting lightly against the window. Another night spent in the lab has finally caught up with her. She doesn't have enough brainpower or energy to think about that time Chris, Leon, and she fought Arias.
She can't think about the looks they were giving each other back then. How attuned they were. Like a well-oiled machine. But what weighs heavily on her is just how good they had been at hiding it.
Or maybe...
They hadn't been hiding it at all.
Maybe everyone else had simply mistaken love for trust.
It isn't long before the golden fields and copper-colored trees give way to rows of weathered New England homes, white picket fences, and maple-lined streets. Rebecca has managed to get some rest while Claire casually chats with Chris about everything and anything.
The road dips gently toward a narrow river, where an old covered wooden bridge stretches across the water. Its faded red boards are darkened by the rain, the cedar shingles on its roof glistening beneath the overcast sky. A hand-painted sign at its entrance proudly declares:
ASHCOMBE COVERED BRIDGE
Built 1843
The 4Runner rumbles over the old timber planks, the hollow rhythm echoing beneath them before fading into the drizzle on the other side. Only a few hundred yards later, a large wooden sign, painted a soft sage green, welcomes them.
ASHCOMBE
The rain has eased into a light drizzle by the time the Toyota rolls beneath it. Chris slows the 4Runner as they enter town.
It is...
Quiet.
Too quiet for a place supposedly preparing for its annual festival. And definitely too quiet for a Saturday afternoon.
He finds himself easing off the gas, his eyes moving from one side of the street to the other.
Ashcombe looks like a town painted from someone's memory. Not his. Chris has never been much of a painter. Still, there is something strangely familiar about it.
The homes standing shoulder to shoulder along the narrow main street remind him of the suburban neighborhoods of Raccoon City. The nice ones. The parts Claire and he had only ever glimpsed through the windows of a school bus on field trips.
Deep front porches are decorated with rocking chairs, comfortable-looking blankets draped over their backs, lanterns hanging low beneath the eaves, carved pumpkins, and pots overflowing with late chrysanthemums.
The sidewalks are covered in damp leaves, forming a colorful autumn carpet beneath the maple trees.
Every storefront has joined the celebration.
Orange and bronze bunting hangs between old-fashioned street lamps. Wreaths woven from maple branches, dried wheat, and pinecones are hung up on every door. Hand-painted signs advertise homemade cider, fresh maple syrup, herbal remedies, and tomorrow's pie contest.
Farther up the hill, the botanical garden overlooks the town. Strings of warm lights drape over its entrance, their reflections shimmering across the rain-soaked pavement.
It should have been bustling.
Children should have been running between the stalls.
People should have been carrying boxes, hanging decorations, arguing over prices, and lining up for coffee.
Instead...
Nothing.
Not a living soul.
Only the quiet hum of the Toyota's engine.
The rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers.
The soft patter of rain.
And three heartbeats.
"Where is everyone?"
It is Rebecca who finally breaks the silence.
Bingo, Chris thinks.
The word surfaces before he can stop it. He frowns and keeps driving.
Chris pulls the 4Runner into a parking space in front of a small pharmacy tucked just off the main street. The engine falls silent. For the first time since entering Ashcombe, the town becomes truly still.
"Let's take a look."
He reaches for the door handle.
His sister's hand closes gently around his forearm. He glances at her. She is already frowning.
"Something's wrong, Chris."
One corner of his mouth twitches into the faintest expression.
You don't say.
She recognizes the look immediately and rolls her eyes.
"No, listen," she says, tightening her grip just enough to keep his attention. "I mean it. Let's stay in the car for another minute. Drive around. Get a better read on the place."
Chris looks back through the windshield.
Empty sidewalks.
Empty storefronts.
Festival decorations swaying lazily in the damp breeze.
Not a single person.
The alarms have been going off in his head ever since they passed the town sign.
"...Yeah," he agrees quietly.
He shifts the gear back into drive.
"One lap. We'll park near the town hall."
"That should give us a better view," Rebecca says.
They drive through the empty streets slowly, all three of them on the lookout. All three hoping to see someone.
Anyone.
Even though he had agreed to one lap, Chris finds himself taking a few streets farther away from the town center. By the time they circle back, nearly fifteen minutes have passed.
Nothing.
By the end of it, all three have reached the same conclusion.
Something has gone very wrong in Ashcombe.
Yet everything looks... normal.
Nothing is overturned. There are no broken windows, no abandoned cars, no signs of struggle.
Just an empty town.
Finally, outside the car, near the town hall, all three of them stand in silence, looking over the empty square stretching along the main street.
"There are no signs of a struggle anywhere," Chris says, scanning the square one last time. He stands tall and alert, dressed in a deep blue sweater beneath a black raincoat.
"Everything's... in order."
Rebecca keeps her eyes fixed on the sidewalk, adjusting the crimson scarf around her neck.
"The place is just..." she murmurs.
"...vacant."
The word lingers between them. None of them likes how well it fits.
"We should check this place out."
Chris rounds the 4Runner and lifts the rear hatch.
"Good thing we took my car."
Claire is beside him immediately. Chris hands her a 9mm pistol, then another to Rebecca.
"You remember?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.
Claire gives the magazine a quick check before chambering a round.
"How could I forget."
There is no sarcasm in her voice. Only the weight of years spent surviving.
Chris slings his rifle over his shoulder, tucks spare magazines into his vest, clips a hatchet to his belt, and lowers the tailgate with a solid thud.
"We head out-"
"Chris..."
Rebecca's voice is quiet.
Urgent.
Both siblings turn at once.
She is standing several feet away, her pistol raised toward the corner of the town hall.
Chris is moving before she has to say another word. His rifle comes up in one smooth motion, his breathing already steady. Claire falls in behind him automatically. On his six.
There, right around the corner near the entrance, stands a woman. Her back is turned to them. She is slowly swaying, seemingly rooted in place.
Everything about her is well put together: the dark brown skirt, the short black raincoat, her hair tied into a neat bun.
But something is off.
It is in the sway of her entire body. In the way her fingers clench and relax, as though she is scratching at the air itself.
And her purple umbrella.
Open.
On the ground, completely turned upward. Rain collects inside it instead of sheltering her.
"Hold," Chris whispers to the women on either side of him.
Claire and Rebecca immediately stop, their weapons still locked on the figure.
"Don't crowd her," he adds, already scanning the area, thinking about the distance, the escape routes, and his reaction time.
He takes a step forward.
"Ma'am?"
There's no response. Not even the slightest indication she has heard him.
"Can you hear me?"
The seconds pass.
He takes another step, then another to the side, slowly circling her. With a subtle motion of his hand, he signals for Claire to take the left while Rebecca stays behind.
"Ma'am," Chris says, keeping his voice calm and even, "I think you dropped your umbrella."
Still nothing.
Another step, and he sees it.
Her face.
Eyes rolled back into their sockets.
Teeth bared. Saliva drips slowly down her chin. Any resemblance to the woman she once was is gone.
Still, she remains perfectly still as Chris's rifle scope settles on her forehead.
"Claire, step back."
She does, without protest.
"Ma'am!"
Nothing.
The woman doesn't react to his voice.
Usually, the infected would. They would already be charging at him. He would know exactly what to do.
But this...
This is different.
"Chris?" Rebecca whispers.
"Hold."
Without taking his eyes off the woman, he brings the butt of his rifle hard against a nearby metal railing. The sharp clang echoes through the empty square.
Nothing.
"This is unusual," Rebecca says. "Chris, we need to restrain her if she isn't hostile."
"We don't know that yet," Claire replies, never taking her eyes off the woman. "She could turn any second."
"Rebecca, you're closest to the car. I need zip ties and the medical kit," Chris barks.
"Got it."
Within moments, Rebecca is back with the supplies.
"Stay there. I'll come to you."
Chris never takes his eyes off the woman, measuring the distance between himself and Rebecca.
"Go," Claire says, her gun trained on the woman. "I've got you covered."
"Here." Rebecca holds out the supplies. "I grabbed the gloves too."
Chris gives a brief nod as he pulls them on.
"Rebecca, I need you on my right. If she moves..."
"I shoot."
"You shoot. Got it?"
She gives him a quick nod.
"Yes, sir."
For the briefest of moments, the corner of Chris's mouth lifts. Rebecca hasn't called him that in years. Not since S.T.A.R.S.
For a split second, she isn't Professor Chambers. She is eighteen years old again, following him through the Spencer Mansion with a first-aid kit that looks bigger than she is.
Funny.
There had been a time he'd thought he might fall for her. Life had taken them somewhere else. Him toward Leon and years of never quite letting go.
Chris shakes the thought away.
He approaches the woman from behind, a heavy-duty zip tie ready in his gloved hand.
He doesn't know what will happen the moment he lays a hand on her. Judging by Claire's and Rebecca's expressions, he doesn't have much time to think about it.
Using a well-practiced maneuver, he catches both wrists and pulls them behind her back.
The zip tie clicks tight.
And still...
She goes with it.
Not a struggle.
Not a hiss.
Nothing but the ragged sound of breathing through bared teeth.
Rebecca lowers her weapon. Claire's remains raised.
"If this thing bites..." Chris says.
Rebecca understands immediately and gives a quick nod.
"Just be gentle," she says. "Don't cut off her air supply."
He takes a triangular bandage from the medical kit and carefully ties it around her mouth.
Near the entrance to the town hall stands a wooden bench beneath the shade of an old oak tree. Chris eyes it and motions toward it with his hand.
"We'll place her there and secure her to the armrest," he says.
The two women nod and help him. Rebecca picks up the purple umbrella, shakes the water off, closes it, and places it neatly beside the now-seated infected woman.
Chris heads back to his car and retrieves the BSAA communicator.
"This is Major Redfield. I'm requesting immediate backup and quarantine of the town of Ashcombe. We have encountered an adult infected female."
Static crackles over the channel before a familiar voice answers.
"Major, this is Lieutenant Jill Valentine. Send me your coordinates. The BSAA is ready to deploy."
Chris enters the coordinates and transmits them.
"There are two entrances into town. One is to the north, across the wooden bridge. I need trucks, personnel, and a barbed-wire perimeter positioned there. A festival was supposed to take place here today. Nobody goes in. Nobody gets out."
He hears Jill typing.
"Chris... isn't this...?"
He knows she's found Ashcombe on the map and remembers he was supposed to be there with Claire and Rebecca.
"Yes. Claire and Rebecca are with me. We're safe for now."
"What's your assessment of the infected?"
"The town appears vacant. Something's off. We don't know if there are more infected nearby," Chris replies, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the center console.
"We're going to check the town hall. An infected female was standing outside the entrance. There may be survivors inside."
"Chris, maybe you-"
He knows Jill is worried, but there isn't a second to waste. They need backup. They needed the quarantine yesterday.
"Lieutenant, I request your presence here. Establish a base camp at the bridge entrance."
His voice leaves no room for anything but obedience.
"Yes, sir."
The channel goes silent.
Chris mentally calculates the distance from the nearest BSAA base.
Twenty minutes, maximum.
Jill will contact him as soon as the perimeter is established. In the meantime, they need to find out what happened in Ashcombe.
He grabs two spare combat knives and a set of wireless earpieces, locks the car, and heads back toward Claire and Rebecca.
"Status?" he asks, turning to Rebecca.
She is kneeling beside the woman, the medical kit open on the ground, a syringe containing the infected woman's blood sample safely stored for later analysis.
"She's unresponsive, but she's in agony. The emotions she's displaying seem to be entirely driven by the infection. Whatever this virus is, she's showing no signs of panic, rage, hunger, or anything that would normally provoke movement."
Chris remains silent.
His eyes meet Claire's.
"Have either of you seen anything like this before?"
Both women answer at the same time.
"No."
Neither has he.
He hates not knowing what he's looking at.
"We're heading inside the town hall. There may be a reason she was standing guard outside it," he says, handing each of them a combat knife.
They secure them to their belts.
Next, he hands Claire an earpiece.
She understands immediately.
Once they split up, Chris will go with Rebecca. Claire will clear the opposite side of the building alone.
She gives him a small nod.
"The BSAA will be here any minute. The town will be under quarantine. Until then, we need to figure out what's going on."
Claire wants to ask.
The question rests on the tip of her tongue. But seeing her brother so focused, she decides against it. There has to be a reason he hasn't called Leon after contacting the BSAA.
Then again...
Knowing Chris, he has probably convinced himself there isn't.
They approach the town hall entrance. A pair of large wooden doors stands before them. Chris pushes against them.
"There's something behind them," he says.
Claire steps beside him, adding her weight. The scraping of metal chairs and tables echoes through the hall as the doors slowly give way. They open just enough for a grown man to squeeze through.
With one final, loud clang, the barricade shifts.
The trio steps inside.
The hall is spacious, with polished marble floors and soft cream-colored walls. Gray daylight filters through the tall windows on the opposite side, casting long reflections across the stone.
Chris glances back.
Someone has tried to barricade the entrance.
Poorly, but they tried.
Which means someone inside wanted to keep something out.
"Someone's in here," Rebecca whispers.
Claire nods.
"Yeah. Let's clear the ground flo-"
She never finishes the sentence.
She hears them before she sees them.
Small footsteps.
Hushed voices.
Frightened voices.
"Lower your weapons," Chris whispers, his eyes scanning the room for the source.
Then they hear it.
"Please... don't shoot!"
The voice couldn't belong to an adult.
It cracks on the last word.
A boy. A teenager, by the sound of it.
Claire wasn't sure what she was expecting, but a teenage boy, no older than thirteen, holding a baseball bat and wearing an Iron Maiden T-shirt, dirty jeans, and worn sneakers wasn't it.
Chris's eyes widen slightly.
The boy grips the bat tightly. His hands tremble, his shoulders are tense, his palms damp. It isn't just fear. There's something stronger beneath it.
A need to protect.
Then, one by one, the rest of them emerge from their hiding place beneath the staircase to the left.
Children.
Teenagers.
A mix of both.
The boy has to be the oldest.
Chris counts quickly.
There are fourteen in total.
He doesn't need to say anything.
All three of them slowly stow their weapons, raising their hands. Not in surrender, but to ease the tension in the room.
"Okay, weapons are gone, see?" Claire says gently. "What's your name, buddy?"
"Amar," the boy says.
The baseball bat is still raised, though his stance has softened slightly.
"Beautiful name." She smiles. "Amar, are there any more children, or is this everyone?"
Amar's eyes flick between the trio.
Chris notices it immediately.
The boy isn't looking at them as a threat. Chris understands that much. It's obvious he's seen something that has made him cautious.
Smart.
Chris knows that look.
He has seen it in the mirror countless times.
"There are more down in the basement. In the office," Amar says, reluctantly lowering his baseball bat.
"Are they going to turn too?" a fragile voice behind him asks.
Amar turns toward them.
Really looks at them.
"Well?" he says, trying to sound braver than he feels. "Are you?"
"Uh, no," Rebecca says quickly, adjusting the medical kit on her shoulder. "We just got here. I'm Rebecca, this is Claire, and that's Chris."
"She's a doctor. She can help," Claire adds, pointing at Rebecca.
"Sophie has asthma," Amar says. "Mia and Jason haven't eaten, and-"
"Amar's ankle is hurt!" a girl behind him blurts out.
Chris notices it immediately; the way the boy shifts his weight as he turns, the slight hesitation in his step.
Amar shoots her a quick look, trying to shush her.
He's smart. And brave, Chris thinks.
"Okay, let me take a look," Rebecca says, approaching slowly.
One of the children immediately rushes to fetch a chair. It's too big for them to carry comfortably, so Chris steps in to help.
The girl looks up at him with wide, uncertain eyes, then gives him a small, grateful smile.
The children visibly relax.
Some gather around Rebecca and Amar, who is now sitting in the chair. His brave face is gone, replaced by pain.
Chris turns to Claire.
"We need to get them out of here."
"The car can't fit them all."
He looks around the hall.
A little girl in pajamas sits motionless at the bottom of the stairs, watching them.
"What happened here?" he asks.
The moment the question leaves his mouth, he regrets it.
Half the children start talking at once, trying to explain.
The other half simply cries.
"Okay, okay, class. One at a time. Let's leave Doctor Becca here with Amar, and you show Chris and me the basement. Sound good?"
The children nod, and one of them, the girl who went to fetch the chair, grabs Chris by the hand and pulls him toward the staircase.
"Lead the way, miss." He smiles.
As they walk toward the staircase, Chris passes the girl sitting on the bottom step. The sorrow in her guarded eyes makes his stomach drop. He makes a mental note to talk to her as soon as possible.
"What's your name?" he asks the girl holding his hand.
"Denise," she answers matter-of-factly.
"Denise... what happened here?"
She shrugs.
"I don't know... My mom got up to make breakfast for my sister and me, and then she just... stood there."
"In the kitchen?" Chris asks gently. "Did you touch her?"
Denise shakes her head.
"No. My sister did."
She points ahead of her, toward the girl wearing a bucket hat and a school bag.
"She told me, 'Grab some food and run outside.'"
"How old are you and your sister?"
Denise lets go of his hand for a moment to fix her ponytail.
"I'm eleven and a half. She's thirteen."
Chris glances at the older girl.
"Your sister's very clever."
Denise nods proudly.
"What about the others?" Chris asks.
The girl simply shrugs.
"I don't know."
She takes his hand again and continues leading him toward the basement.
Once inside, Chris hears the faint sound of children talking. He glances at Claire. He can practically read her thoughts from that one look.
They have work to do.
The plan is to divide the children into three groups. Rebecca will take the youngest. She'll examine them while talking to them at the same time. Claire will take the children between seven and nine years old. Chris will take everyone ten and older.
He listens carefully as Claire explains her idea of setting up separate trust circles throughout the building, giving the children a safe space where they can feel more at ease and, hopefully, more willing to share what they've seen.
"And," Claire says, bouncing two baseballs and a tennis ball in her hands, "we'll use these to signal whose turn it is to speak."
She smiles.
"And to make it a little more fun."
It makes Chris proud to watch his sister instinctively know how to reach frightened children and put them at ease.
She has always been good at it.
His thoughts drift to Sherry and how effortlessly she bonded with Claire... and with Leon.
Chris frowns.
Leon.
Just three days ago, Leon returned from investigating a small town in Iowa where an entire neighborhood seemingly vanished overnight. The mission was classified, and Chris didn't pry. They only exchanged a few brief reports afterward, something they usually do. Professional. Impersonal.
Now he wishes he had asked more questions.
The similarities are beginning to stack up.
An isolated town. No obvious signs of violence. People simply... gone.
If Leon has seen even a fraction of this before, every minute spent without his insight is a minute wasted.
He'll call Leon as soon as he has more information.
Once everyone has settled into a circle, Chris clears his throat.
"Okay. I'm Chris. Why don't we all say our names and pass the ball around?"
The children nod.
Some rock back and forth impatiently, waiting for their turn. Others seem uninterested. A few watch Chris's every move, studying him with quiet caution.
There are seven children in his group. He chooses to keep the older ones on the ground floor while Rebecca takes the younger children into the basement.
The ball eventually reaches the girl he saw sitting on the stairs.
"My name's Vivian," she says softly.
Her piercing blue eyes and the dark circles beneath them tell Chris she hasn't slept in a long time. An oversized hoodie swallows her small frame, and her pajama bottoms are too long for her legs. Her hands remain buried in the front pocket, fidgeting with something hidden inside.
"What happened when you woke up this morning?" Chris asks, passing the ball to the boy beside her.
Amar catches it.
"I found my grandmother in the garden. She was... frozen. I thought she'd fallen asleep outside."
He swallows.
"Her face looked scary, so I ran back inside to get my dad. He was supposed to be at work, but I could hear his phone ringing upstairs."
"Was your dad home too?"
Amar lowers his eyes.
"He was in the bathroom... getting ready... but he was..." He pauses. "...just like grandma."
"Not moving."
Chris nods.
His mind fits the puzzle pieces together one by one.
Then another child speaks.
And another.
Story after story.
Different homes.
Different families.
The same morning.
Then Vivian speaks.
"My brother is outside."
Her voice is barely above a whisper.
She looks up at Chris, tears welling in her eyes, and holds out her phone with both hands.
"I... I can't reach him. He's not answering."
Chris freezes.
There are others.
Other children.
Still out there.
Just because they haven't seen them while driving around doesn't mean they aren't hiding, just like this group.
He gently takes the phone from her.
"What's your brother's name?" he asks quietly.
"Dean."
Chris nods, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"Is it alright if I borrow this for a little while, Vivian?"
She nods, wiping away her tears with the sleeve of what is, without a doubt, her brother's oversized hoodie.
Chris rises to his feet, dusting off the back of his coat.
"I need everyone to gather any food you brought from home and place it on the table in the corner. We'll find more soon," he says reassuringly. "And don't worry. We're going to get all of you out of town and to the BSAA base camp. You'll be safe there until this is over."
"Will it be over?"
It's Amar.
Chris meets the boy's eyes.
"It will," he says, and there isn't a trace of doubt in his voice.
"I'm going to make a few calls now. Amar, you're in charge."
Amar looks up.
"Make sure everyone gets something to eat. Nobody gets left out."
The boy nods, his cheeks flushing.
He has been noticed.
Trusted.
Chris nods back before stepping away and taking out his BSAA communicator, along with his pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He makes sure to stand just far enough away to keep an eye on the kids without letting the smoke bother them too much. Opening the window helps, too.
He takes a drag, letting the smoke linger in his mouth before inhaling. With his other hand, he activates the communicator and taps the earpiece.
"Lieutenant Valentine, what's your status?"
"Major, we're establishing the base camp now. The barbed-wire perimeter is in place, and the teams are at their assigned positions. We also have a mobile medical lab up and running."
Chris allows himself a quiet breath.
It is a brilliant move to have a mobile medical lab at the base. He needs to get Rebecca there as soon as possible.
"Good. Dr. Chambers will be heading your way with a blood sample. She'll need full access to the lab."
"Understood. We'll be ready for her," Jill replies. Then she adds, "Chris..."
The tone of her voice makes him straighten.
"Be careful."
He blows out the smoke.
"Copy that."
The channel goes silent.
He looks out the window and fishes his phone from the inside pocket of his coat. His fingers open the recent calls list and scroll down to that name.
He presses it.
The line rings once.
"Chris?"
Fuck, he thinks.
That voice.
The knot between his shoulders loosens before he even realizes it has been there.
Leon has always had that effect on him.
Steady.
Grounding.
As though the sound of his voice alone can quiet the chaos, if only for a moment.
And even though it lasts only a moment, Chris feels himself steady.
"Agent Kennedy?"
"Oh, it's like that?" Leon chuckles. "What have you gotten yourself into now, Redfield?"
"Ashcombe."
Silence.
"...Come again?"
"I'm in Ashcombe. Claire and Rebecca are with me."
Another beat.
"We have a situation."
Chris glances toward the children gathered around the tables.
"It's similar to Iowa."
"Chris..." Leon says slowly. "You're not going to believe this."
"What?"
"I'm looking at BSAA trucks right now."
Chris straightens.
"What?"
"I'm here."
A beat.
"I've been working this case for months. Iowa wasn't an isolated incident."
Chris's grip tightens around the phone.
"I had Ashcombe at the top of my list."
Silence settles between them for half a heartbeat.
"Then I'm glad you're here," Chris says, taking the last drag from his cigarette.
"Let's just hope I got here on time," Leon replies quietly.
"Jill's in command at the base," Chris says. "Let her know you're with me."
He hears Leon let out a quiet sigh, followed by the faintest laugh.
"So..."
A brief pause.
"We're doing this together?"
Chris's eyes drift to the rain splashing against the pavement. The wind carries orange and crimson leaves across the empty street.
Still.
"For this one..." he says softly, flicking the extinguished cigarette through the open window, "...there's nobody I'd rather have beside me."
It's the truth.
Plain and simple.
Silence answers him.
Chris hears nothing but the low hum of Leon's Porsche cutting through the rain.
"...Yeah."
Leon lets out a quiet breath.
"Same."
They stay like that for a few more seconds, neither of them saying anything.
Chris tells himself it's enough. Just knowing Leon is there, even if only on the other end of the line, steadies something inside him.
"I'm at the bridge," Leon says at last. Chris hears the faint crunch of gravel beneath the tires, then the muted click of an engine shutting off.
"I'll be sending Rebecca there in a few – "
A phone buzzes in his pocket.
Chris frowns. It isn't the BSAA communicator.
He pulls out Vivian's phone.
The name DEAN and a dino emoji flashes across the screen.
His heart skips a beat.
"Stay with me, Leon," he says quickly, already swiping to answer and putting Leon on speaker.
"Viv?"
"Hello?"
"Vivian?"
"This is Major Redfield," Chris says at once. "Vivian's safe. Is this Dean?"
For a heartbeat, there's only breathing.
Then the panic breaks loose.
"Where is Vivian?" the boy demands, his voice cracking. "I need to hear Vivian!"
"You will," Chris says, keeping his own voice steady. "I promise. But I need you to tell me where you are first."
"I-I..." Dean draws a shaky breath. "Are... are you military?"
"BSAA."
Chris turns at the sound of footsteps behind him. Claire is approaching with Vivian, who has already recognized her brother's name.
"I need your location, Dean," Chris continues. "Vivian is standing right here beside me. She's safe, and in about thirty seconds you're going to hear her voice."
Silence.
Chris can almost hear the boy fighting to keep himself together.
"...The library," Dean whispers. "We're hiding in the library."
"We?"
"There are kids here." His breathing hitches. "Lots of them. Babies... little kids... teenagers..."
Chris's expression hardens.
"How many?"
"I don't know..." Dean admits. "Twenty... maybe more... but the babies... we couldn't get them all out, and they need food... formula."
Chris exchanges a glance with Claire.
He doesn't have to say it.
She has reached the same conclusion.
Babies.
There are babies still lying in their cribs. Toddlers trapped inside silent houses. Children too young to understand that something has gone terribly wrong.
And although the infected aren't moving or responding, nobody can guarantee they'll remain that way.
His stomach tightens.
He lifts his eyes toward the rain-streaked window. Despite the gray clouds, he knows it's well past noon.
"Dean," he says, his voice calm despite the thoughts racing through his mind. "Listen to me very carefully."
"I'm listening."
"Keep every door locked. Don't let anyone leave the building. We're coming for you."
Only then does Chris hold the phone out to Vivian.
"Go ahead."
The girl takes it with trembling hands.
Chris steps away.
He can't make out the words anymore. They're two frightened siblings hearing each other again after hours of believing the worst.
The ringing in his ears drowns everything else out.
He has to get those babies out.
He presses the phone back to his ear.
"Leon."
"I'm here."
"I need a map of this town and a population registry."
He knows Leon has heard every word of the conversation. By now, he's probably walking into the BSAA command tent, already looking for Jill.
"I need addresses," Chris continues. "Every household with newborns, infants, and toddlers."
A beat.
"Once you find them, don't wait for me. Extract them. Coordinate with Jill."
"On it."
Chris pinches the bridge of his nose.
"One more thing."
"Go."
"Set up a secure channel. You, me, Jill, Claire, and Rebecca."
"Give me twenty minutes."
"Alright. Once you do, keep it open."
Leon hums in acknowledgment.
For a moment, neither of them speaks.
"Be safe, Chris," Leon says quietly.
Chris closes his eyes for the briefest second, letting the sound of Leon's voice wash over him like waves against the shore.
"You too, Leon."
The moment he hangs up, Chris turns, already scanning for Rebecca.
Claire is a step behind him, a four-year-old balanced carefully on her hip.
"We need to split, Chris," she says. "I can go to the library. Get them across here faster."
Chris considers it for only a moment.
"No," he says. "I need you here. I'll go. BSAA extraction teams will be here any minute."
He knows she won't like it. Claire never likes being sidelined, especially when children are involved. But this isn't hesitation.
It's structure.
They need structure.
"Rebecca," he calls, already moving down the stairs.
"Over here, Chris."
He finds her seated among the children, one still half-asleep against her side as she works through her notes.
"How are they?" Chris asks, dragging a hand through his hair and down the side of his face in an unconscious attempt to reset himself.
Rebecca doesn't look up.
"They're mostly stable. Sophie's asthma is under control. Amar's sprain is manageable for now, but he shouldn't be putting weight on it," she says. "Two of them have mild throat irritation. Nothing alarming yet."
Chris exhales through his nose. A quiet acknowledgment.
"Rebecca," he says, lowering his voice slightly, "BSAA has set up a mobile medical lab at the north entrance. Across the wooden bridge we came in on."
He pauses, making sure she remembers the route they took into town.
She nods immediately.
She always does.
"Take the car," Chris says.
That gets her attention.
Her gaze lifts to his, sharp and focused.
"Are you going to be alright here?" she asks. "I need to run the blood sample. It's the only way we're going to understand what this is."
"Claire and I will manage."
Rebecca closes her notebook.
Chris watches the familiar shift happen before his eyes. The frightened civilian disappears behind the calm, methodical scientist he has trusted for years.
"It's the key," she says quietly.
A brief pause.
"To figuring out how to stop it."
Another.
"...Or reverse it."
Chris nods once.
That's enough.
"Go."
He places the Toyota's keys on the table between them.
Rebecca packs the blood sample into her medical bag, slings it over her shoulder, and picks up the keys.
She stops.
For reasons she can't quite explain, she looks back at him. Their eyes meet.
"Did you call him?"
Chris lowers his eyes for just a moment.
"He'll be there."
A faint smile tugs at one corner of his mouth.
"Waiting for you."
Rebecca smiles back. It's a small, encouraging smile that somehow carries far more than reassurance.
"You'll take the four youngest children, the ones with the medical issues. Get them to the base."
At that, she nods, determined to get those kids to safety.
"I will."
With four children safely buckled into their seats, Rebecca climbs behind the wheel. Chris's old Toyota looks even larger from the driver's seat.
She adjusts the seat as far forward as it will go, rests both hands on the steering wheel for a moment, and sighs.
She already misses her own car.
Her eyes drift to the gear lever.
"Of course," she mutters.
"Manual."
Sophie sits beside her, snugly fastened into her seat, quietly rolling a small toy car across her knees. Her feet are too short to reach the floor, so they swing back and forth in a slow, absent rhythm.
"Are we leaving?"
Amar's voice comes from the back.
He has stretched his injured leg across the other two children's knees, trying not to put any weight on it.
"Yes," Rebecca says gently, fastening her seat belt. "And don't worry. We'll get everyone else out too."
Amar nods, but he doesn't seem reassured.
"...While they're still not moving."
Rebecca freezes.
Her hand lingers on the ignition key.
"What makes you say that?"
Amar looks through the windshield toward Mrs. Clayton, still sitting exactly where Chris and the others secured her to the bench.
Rain drips from the umbrella resting beside her.
"Because..." he whispers, "...they look like they're waiting."
Rebecca follows his gaze.
For the first time since entering Ashcombe, she feels something colder than fear settle in the pit of her stomach.
"It won't come to that," she whispers, more to herself than to the children.
She turns the key.
The engine rumbles to life.
Coughed.
And dies.
Rebecca lets her forehead rest against the steering wheel for the briefest second.
"...Of course."
She and manual transmissions have never quite reached an understanding.
A second later, the engine comes back to life.
This time, the Toyota eases forward without protest, disappearing into the curtain of rain. Rebecca ignores the empty intersections and silent traffic lights. She drives straight down the main street, the wipers struggling to keep pace with the downpour.
Fifteen minutes later, the road begins to climb toward the northern edge of town. A wooden sign appears through the rain.
LEAVING ASHCOMBE SO SOON?
FAREWELL AND COME AGAIN.
Rebecca lets out a dry, humorless laugh.
"No. Thank you."
She slows the Toyota, presses the clutch, downshifts, and eases onto the brake.
Only then does she see it.
Barbed-wire fencing stretching across the entrance to the covered bridge.
BSAA trucks.
Floodlights.
Canvas tents.
Armed personnel moving with practiced urgency.
A field hospital already taking shape.
It's help and hope all at once.
"There!" Sophie exclaims, pressing both hands against the window.
The other children lean forward, eyes wide.
"We made it," Amar whispers.
For the first time since entering Ashcombe, Rebecca allows herself to believe they just might.
Two BSAA soldiers step into the road, both raising their hands to signal for her to stop. Rebecca slows the Toyota to a crawl before bringing it to a halt a few feet from the checkpoint.
Inside the car, you could hear a pin drop. The children fall completely silent, their little hearts lodged somewhere in their throats as they watch rifles lower toward the vehicle.
Then someone recognizes it.
"That's Major Redfield's vehicle!"
Before anyone can say another word, Jill Valentine breaks into a run.
Only then does Rebecca finally allow herself to breathe.
"Stay put," she tells the children gently. "That's Jill. She's here to help."
She climbs out of the Toyota, adjusting the strap of her medical bag over her shoulder.
"Lieutenant Valentine," Rebecca says with a tired but genuine smile. "I really need that lab."
Jill nods immediately and turns to the nearest soldier.
"Get Dr. Chambers to the medical unit," she orders. Every word is calm, clipped, deliberate.
"There are four children inside," Rebecca adds quickly. "They need food and medical attention."
Jill doesn't answer.
She's already moving.
"Medic!" she calls over her shoulder. "Pediatric team! Now!"
Personnel converge on the Toyota within seconds.
Doors fly open.
Blankets appear.
One medic carefully lifts the youngest child from the back seat while another kneels beside Amar, already assessing his injured ankle.
Rebecca barely notices.
Her eyes drift past the checkpoint.
Past the rows of tents.
Past the floodlights reflecting off the rain-soaked pavement.
A sleek black Porsche sits parked beside one of the BSAA trucks, rain cascading over its windshield.
She blinks away the droplets gathering on her lashes.
Then she sees him.
Leon Kennedy is already running toward her.
He crosses the muddy ground with long, purposeful strides, a radio clipped to one shoulder crackling with incoming reports. His black button-down shirt clings to him in the rain, the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. Leather shoulder holsters hug his torso, magazines secured with practiced precision, one gloved hand briefly resting against the gun at his side as he jogs toward her.
His dirty blond hair is soaked, strands falling across his forehead, yet he doesn't seem to notice.
Or care.
There isn't a trace of hesitation in him.
Only purpose.
Only the mission.
Rebecca has fought beside Leon before. She has trusted him with her life.
But today...
Today, she sees something she somehow missed all those years. It's as though she's seeing him through an entirely new lens.
It isn't the way he carries himself. It isn't his confidence. Nor is it the quiet authority that makes soldiers instinctively step aside as he passes.
It's where his attention goes.
It's the way his eyes sweep over her in an instant, searching for information.
For Chris.
"Rebecca," he says.
He doesn't ask about Chris.
He doesn't need to.
If Chris had been injured badly enough that he couldn't lead, Rebecca wouldn't be standing here alone.
Leon already knows that.
"You're here."
The question he truly wants to ask is the one Leon would never ask: How is he?
Rebecca remembers the drive to Ashcombe.
Leon is... special.
Yeah... I do.
She hadn't understood those words then, but she does now.
This man loves her friend deeply.
Loves the same Chris Redfield who once was her captain, her superior and the man who taught her how to survive.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
But with the kind of unwavering devotion that reveals itself in moments like this. In unspoken questions. In readiness. In restraint.
"Leon..."
She stops.
What can she possibly say to him?
How is she supposed to behave now that she understands?
Leon stands in front of her, waiting.
Waiting for a report.
For information about the town.
About the children.
About whatever Chris has walked into.
Rebecca looks at him for a long moment.
Then, for the first time since stepping out of the Toyota, she sets protocol aside and chooses with her heart.
"He's alright."
Leon freezes.
Not for long.
Just long enough for the words to reach him.
He hadn't asked, and he never would have.
Yet somehow, Dr. Chambers answers the question he never allows himself to voice.
His shoulders loosen almost imperceptibly.
"Good."
It comes out quieter than he intends, carrying a small, controlled relief and something like gratitude.
A heartbeat later, he reaches for the map spread across the hood of the truck and tucks it beneath his arm.
"I'll take Dr. Chambers," he says to the soldier to Rebecca's left.
No one questions it.
He simply gestures for Rebecca to follow, already walking toward the medical tent.
She hurries after him.
"Start from the beginning," Leon says. "Tell me everything that's happened in Ashcombe."