Disclaimer: God, I don’t want to do this anymore...but I gotta. You know the drill. All characters, places, and creatures in here come from both RE1 and 2 and are properties of Capcom. I don’t own them. No kidding.

WARNING: Last chance to bail—this thing’s PG-13 for the infamous ‘groping scene’ that gave this story the whole “sexually-charged” label. I’m not even gonna explain it. Just read and you’ll see why you’ve been warned.

Part Two
by Sydney Kyle

      Click. Click. Click. CLICK.

      The clicking sounds are emitting from all around me. I shift into a shooting position, arms outstretched, gun raised.

      All of a sudden, I know now how a fly in a spider’s web feels like.

      I’m trapped.

      And they know it.

      Shit.

      The hairs at the back of my neck prickle, and I swear I can hear my heart thudding in my ears.

      Okay...I gotta calm down. I’ve faced these things before. I’m practically a veteran at this. I can do this. I can.

      A rattle drifts out toward me from the darkness, and I shiver.

      No. No matter how many of these bastards I kill, no matter how many of them I blow to pieces, I’m never going to get used to this. Never.

      Never.

      I hear an animalistic cry at my back, and I don’t have to turn around to know that it’s coming.

      I whip around blindly and fire.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      One, two, three, four shots.

      There’s a thud as a heavy body hits concrete.

      I lower my weapon, and for the first time, I’m able to appraise my attacker under the meager light of the ancient-looking street lamp attached to the wall. I advance cautiously toward the body as it lies on the ground in a fetal position.

      Oh, shit.

      It’s a licker. At least, it looks like a licker. The huge, saliva-slicked tongue that dangles comically from the crimson gums in its open mouth is a dead giveaway. No eyes, just like I thought. There’s something different about this one, though. Its skin’s a very bright shade of red, unlike the ones I’ve been previously acquainted with, and it’s bigger, bulkier...in fact, it’s a damn miracle that those four shots from my little Beretta were enough to put it down...

      Without warning, the thing comes to life, its tongue snaking towards my ankle—

      In your dreams, buddy.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      I squeeze off four shots without stopping. The licker twitches once, then is motionless. A thick, smelly liquid oozes from the hole I drilled into its head.

      The momentary relief that sweeps through me is immediately smothered as I sense a number of them behind me.

      I already know what I’m going to see—one big, happy, hungry licker family, with red skin and curlicue tongues, just waiting for a piece of Claire-on-a-stick.

      I turn around, slowly.

      You know, sometimes I hate it when I’m right.

      I count them. Seven. Seven of ‘em, all lined up in a row, nice and neat, tongues flicking about, drool dripping from their gaping maws.

      There’s a little scratching noise behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. Behind me, the eighth licker—the one with the hole on its head—staggers to its feet. I clamp down hard on my bottom lip and glance again at the seven in front of me.

      They look like they’re smiling.

      Smiling.

      Taunting smiles.

      I point the Beretta at them, almost nonchalantly, and pull the trigger.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      The two in front recoil from the first couple of shots. The third one in the back springs at me, tongue waving, and I let him have it in the mouth.

      *BLAM*

      It flies backward and crashes into one of the bins.

      Meanwhile, the fourth and fifth ones are circling me. The sixth and seventh ones remain motionless, watching. Meanwhile, the eighth one scales the alley wall. I aim my gun at it and blast away before it gets the chance to crawl close and jump down on me.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      The eighth, sure enough, topples off. I spin around, just in time to see the fourth one’s tongue dart toward my legs.

      Tongues off, you sonnuvabitch.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *chkk*

      The fourth one retreats for a moment, tongue bleeding, and I quickly discard the spent clip. I barely have time to load in the second clip before the fifth one lunges at me.

      “Go to hell!” I find myself shrieking.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      The licker’s head snaps back, and I see that the steady rain of bullets I’ve pumped into him has almost severed its neck from its body. Its hisses turn into rasps.

      I step back, feeling a little sick. See, I only shout like that when I’m really unnerved. I’d say fending off a bunch of new, improved licker versions with a little Beretta’s enough to rattle anyone. Even me.

       *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      I’m shooting now to keep them at a distance more than anything else. I’m a fairly good shot—I know that I’ve nailed them where it really counts—head, neck, chest. But you know what? None of that matters now, ‘cause they’re still coming.

      They’re like an army of Energizer bunnies—Energizer bunnies hellbent on licking me dead and eating my flesh, anyway. I’m starting to fall into this firing trance...

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      Something latches onto my ankle. I glance down and see that one of the lickers’ tongues is encircled around my calf. The revulsion that bubbles up in my throat is almost overwhelming. In response, I line up my leg with the licker’s head, like a soccer player lining up for the ball, and kick.

      The bastard sails backwards, shrieking.

      It’s almost funny.

      Right.

      I’ve learned how to reload the Beretta quickly. It takes me only a second to slip off the second clip and slap on the third—and last—one.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      For God’s sake. Die, already. Diediedie.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      I feel my back scrape against the dank alley wall.

      Shit.

      *BLAM* *BLA—*

      Something hooks the back of my ankle and pulls. The sudden upset in balance catches me off guard, and I hurtle forward. The Beretta flies from my numbed fingers. I barely feel myself hit the concrete, and even then, I twist frantically on the ground, groping for the weapon.

      “Hhhhheeeaauurggghhh...”

      And suddenly, they’re all around me.

      Their breath is hot and fetid on my skin. The smell is overwhelming—like sulphur and rotten flesh—and I have to fight back the bile that rises from my stomach.

      God, I’m tired...so tired...

      Through half-lidded eyes, I see the biggest one’s head hovering above mine, fanged teeth glistening, tongue wriggling back and forth.

      I watch, disinterestedly, as the jaws descend upon my neck. My body feels too heavy to move, and yet my brain’s going a hundred miles per second.

      Okay, Leon, you’d better have one hell of an explanation as to why you aren’t here. I really hope you haven’t gone on ahead into the building to see if your precious Ada’s all right. I hope you really haven’t left me here to die...

      Closer...closer...closer...

      I close my eyes. Inside, I’m screaming.

      Dammit, Leon! You’re supposed to be a goddamn cop—whatever happened to “serve and protect”? Where the HELL are you?!

      “Get away from her!”

      I guess that answers that.

      You know, one of these days, I’m going to have to ask Leon S. Kennedy why he likes to cut these things so damn close.

      I crack open one eye, just in time to see the licker towering over me lift its head.

      And lose it.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      I feel wet drops splatter onto my face.

      There’s a chorus of agonized wails as they scrabble away from me—at least for the moment. The biggest licker’s weight is lifted off my chest.

      Only to be replaced by a different kind of weight.

      “Claire? Claire, are you okay? Claire!”

      Leon’s crouching over me. I feel his hand cup my cheek, while the other one strays to my neck as if to check my pulse. A groan forces its way out of my throat.

      “Mmmmgghhh...I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m fine.”

      I turn my head to the front, my nose nearly colliding into his, and I’m taken aback by the terror in his face. His respiration is harsh, labored. For a second I’m fascinated by the luminous blue of his eyes...

      All of a sudden I’m pissed. Really pissed. I shove him off me.

      “I’m fine, Leon.”

      He obediently gets to his feet and pulls me up with him. The ground tilts dangerously under my boots.

      “I thought you’d fallen asleep there for a minute,” he mutters.

      “I was just resting,” I snap.

      Inwardly I’m cursing myself for being for being so damn weak. He’s right—it’s like I drifted off to sleep right there, when I should’ve been blasting away at those bastards like there’s no tomorrow.

      I touch my face and stare at my fingers. They’re stained with licker blood. Disgusting.

      I’m wiping my hand on the wall when I notice licker slobber glistening on my legs. Oh, great. Those bastards gave me something to remember them by, all right.

      Wait a minute.

      There’s something odd about the saliva. A glance at the licker’s dismembered head only confirms my suspicions. The drool leaking out of its mouth is milky in color—like there’s something else mixed in along with the usual stuff.

      Something like a toxin, maybe?

      Perfect.

      “Hhhheaaauurggghhh...”

      My head jerks up. I’m starting to loathe that hissing sound.

      Sure enough, I can see the remaining seven coming back for round two.

      “Leon.” I lick my chapped lips. “Leon, I think they’ve got something in their saliva—a toxin or something—that acts like a tranquilizer if you come into contact with it. You can’t let them touch you.”

      He gives me a funny look. Then he cocks the gun he’s holding and tosses something at me. I reach out and feel cool metal against my fingers.

      It’s a rifle—a Remington 12-Gauge shotgun, to be exact. I notice it’s basically the same model he’s carrying, but his seems to have a longer barrel. I don’t care, though. It feels way better than my tiny Beretta.

      I cock the rifle, my mind spinning. So this was why he was late. He must’ve been raiding Chris’s car for these while I was barreling down the alley, all piss and vinegar and ready to take on all of lickerkind.

      Real smooth, Claire. Maybe Leon’s rubbing off of me. I mean, he’s supposed to be the brash one, and he actually used his brain here. Hmph. Maybe Ada’s rubbing off of him...

      I scowl at him, and he shrugs.

      “Best I could do,” he remarks, nodding at the shotguns.

      A rattle echoes from the alleyway, and for a while we don’t speak to each other. It’d be impossible for me to hear anything he has to say, anyway.

      We’re blasting away like crazy, alternately cocking our guns and letting loose with a rhythm that’s almost eerie. The sound of gunfire mixes with screams of pain as shell after shell tears into them, rending their reddish flesh, sending spittle and blood flying everywhere. Their tongues get the same treatment every time they let one snake our way.

      One of the lickers somehow manages to duck the crossfire and slinks over toward an oblivious Leon. So I get rid of it for him.

      Its already-battered head explodes, and I smile in satisfaction.

      Without warning, Leon turns toward me and fires. For one heart-sickening moment, I think he’s shooting at me.

      Then I hear a cry from behind. I whirl around, just in time to see a blood-covered licker slumping down the wall. There’s a huge dark splat on the maroon-colored bricks.

      I turn to Leon, a look of disbelief on my face. He only smirks in reply.

      Men.

      I shake my head, cock my rifle, and aim. Beside me, Leon does the same.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      The concrete is slick with dark fluid and some unidentifiable bits of organs. We’re backing them now into the corner of the alleyway, where it’s a dead-end street and there’s no way out. They’re falling now, and it’s obvious that it’s getting harder and harder for them to get up. There’s no way they can stand against our combined assault.

      No way in hell.

      I evaluate one of the remaining two and concentrate on the bulging part of its skull...

      And fire away.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      The head goes up in a crimson eruption of blood and gore.

      Beautiful.

      The thing writhes around frantically for a minute, claws flailing, limbs shuddering. Then a dark, viscous liquid bubbles out of its exposed windpipe, spilling over the stump that used to be its neck. It gives out one last death rattle, then flops to the ground. Dead. Finally.

      And then everything’s quiet.

      I lower my shotgun cautiously as I scan our surroundings. It looks like a scene out of a slaughterhouse. Guts and various appendages are strewn all over the alley, and white sticky saliva gleams from the brick walls and garbage bins. The stench is putrid and makes my eyes water, but I don’t look away. Because, amongst all the various bits and pieces of viscera and other things, are the twitching, decimated bodies of eight lickers. It’s a gruesomely magnificent sight. Trust me.

      I also note that we’re still alive. Not only that—we’re unscathed.

      One of us, anyway.

      I turn toward Leon, a giddy smile breaking out over my face. I idly note that there’s three of him. Great. Like one of him isn’t enough.

      “Well, we really showed ‘em, eh, partner?” I manage to quip, hoisting my rifle over my shoulder.

      He smiles back. You know, his smile isn’t that bad. I might even say it’s nice. Especially when it’s for me.

      I start to walk up to him, but barely take one step when my legs buckle and fold under me like a telescope.

      “Claire?!”

      My eyes shut as my limbs turn into jelly, and I wait for the feel of rough concrete against my cheek.

      Instead, to my astonishment, I fall forward onto a warm, living body. Strong arms latch onto my elbows, steadying me. I slide down. He sinks to the ground with me, his hands resting at the back of my waist.

      “Claire...”

      I try and wave him off, but all I can do is mumble. He’s so warm. So blessedly warm. And he smells nice, too. I’d rather sniff him than those licker carcasses around us.

      “Hold on...here...”

      He tugs me forward, and my butt scrapes ungracefully against the craggy concrete. My fingers itch to bap him for his rather ungentlemanly treatment of my person, but I’m too tired to do anything.

      My posterior hits a bump. It’s not painful, but it’s infuriating as hell. I grit my teeth. That’s it. Mr. Policeman or not, I’m not gonna let him drag me around like a potato sack. Serve and protect, my ass. Serve and protect MY ass.

      “MmmmmhhhLeon.”

      It comes out a moan, and I wince.

      “It’s cleaner over here,” he insists primly.

      My hand tightens on his shirt as he starts to lower me down on my back. I attempt a feeble protest. “No...you don’t have to...I can stand...”

      “Listen, you’re in no condition to move. That toxin in the saliva’s still in your system—”

      I grab onto his sleeve, trying to pull myself up. “Leon, I can’t just lie here and wait for this to wear off. Chris and the others’re still in the Umbrella headquarters, and they might need our help—”

      He cuts me off. “Look here, Claire...”

      “No, you look here! I’ve finally found my brother after going through hell and back, and I’m not about to lose him now!” I pause and suck in a deep breath. “And what about Ada, Leon? After what you went through together, can you stand losing her again?”

      Goddamn it! Why the HELL did I say that?

      The pain that flashes through his features feels like a knife in my chest, but my chin remains tilted up in defiance. Inside, though, I’m shaking.

      God freaking damn it! I’ve basically asked him to choose between Ada and me. I am such an idiot. I should have my damn brain examined. I should have double-jointed knees so that I can kick myself in the head. I should—

      “You’re right,” he breathes.

      Ladies and gentlemen, Ada Wong wins by a landslide.

      Okay, now that his earth-shattering decision’s over and done with, we should be up and going now.

      But we don’t move.

      I stare up at him. He stares back at me, his hair hanging down his temples and rippling across his forehead. I have to smother my impulse to brush them to the side. My body’s thrumming with something that disturbingly feels like anticipation.

      This is not good. This is SO not good...

      I tear my gaze from his and focus it instead on his shoulder.

      What I see beyond it makes my blood run cold.

      I can hardly make it out in the shadows in the corner, about ten feet away from us, but the weak light of the street lamp outlines its general shape. It’s silent and unmoving. It doesn’t even look alive.

      I see its tongue flick out and back into his mouth.

      Scratch that thought.

      The thing shifts from its position on the wall, and my eyes widen.

      My God. It’s huge. Six feet long, with a tail the size of a tree trunk and teeth that would scare the hell out of a T-Rex.

      Is this the kind of twisted mutation Umbrella’s carrying out now? I can’t help but wonder. What’s it gonna be this time, Umbrella? The X-Virus? The Y-Virus? What?

      “Claire?” Leon’s voice snaps me back to reality. I lean back to glance at him. His pupils are hooded, dark. I feel his muscles tense underneath my fingers.

      “Shhhh.”

      From what I can tell, the Uberlicker behind him seems to be unaware of us. It’s moving slowly across the wall, twisting its massive body in a serpentine motion, and it hasn’t lifted its head in our direction yet.

      “What’s wrong?” Leon persists urgently, seeing that my attention seems to be focused on something behind him.

      “Leon...”

      The Uberlicker continues to loll its tongue across the bricks, tasting the spot of blood one of its kin left there. I don’t think it relies on hearing—and, judging from its lack of eyes—it doesn’t rely on sight either. Taste seems to be its primary sense. If I’m right about it being related to the lickers back in Raccoon City, it should be able to sense the smallest change in the air or the temperature around it.

      I guess that means running, or any other sudden movement, is out of the question.

      Besides, there’s really nowhere to run.

      “Claire, what’s wrong?” he says again.

      I speak slowly, keeping my tone nonchalant, trying not to alarm him. “Leon, I think we missed one.”

      He closes his eyes for a second, digesting the info. I ready myself, expecting the worst, expecting him to drop me right here and flee back to the car. When he opens his eyes again, there is a striking look of calm on his face.

      “It’s behind me, isn’t it?” he asks. It’s a rather obvious question.

      “Yup.”

      I almost jump when I feel his hands move against my waist.

      Oh, yeah. His shotgun.

      My own gun is lying about three feet away from me, submerged in a pink-red pile of licker guts. Cute. It must’ve tumbled off my shoulder while I was stumbling around in a toxin-induced stupor. I am SUCH a genius.

      Dammit.

      Uberlicker seems to be looking in our direction, apparently captivated by the smells his tongue is picking up. Goosebumps break out on my bare arms and legs.

      God, Leon, hurry up and load the damn rifle already.

      I try not to squirm as I feel the cold barrel of Leon’s rifle pressing against the hollow of my back.

      “Leon...that gun better not accidentally go off in there,” I murmur warningly, concealing my discomfort with false indignation.

      I hear the rifle click.

      “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” he says tightly.

      My heart stops in my chest. “What?” I squeak.

      “We’re out of ammo.” His voice is casual, almost careless.

      My gaze flickers back toward Uberlicker. There’s no mistaking it now—it knows we’re here.

      “Hhhheeeeeaaauuuurrrghhh...” Click. Click. Click.

      Now it’s coming down from the wall.

      Shit. Oh SHIT.

      For a second, I let panic overtake me.

      But only for a second.

      Okay, Claire. Deep breaths. Don’t lose it now. There has to be something that can get us out of this...something I forgot...something I...

      “Claire.”

      I look up at the quiet desperation on Leon’s features, and I remember.

      I know I should at least have the grace to hesitate. I should apologize to him first and warn him what I’m about to do. After all, proper ladies aren’t supposed to do this sort of thing. Even Claire Redfield has to have at least some modesty, right?

      “Hhhhhheeeaaauuurrrggghhhh...” Click, click, CLICK.

      You know what? Screw modesty.

      I loosen my grip on Leon’s shoulders, letting my hands slide down the slope of his back before plunging them down into the waistband of his jeans.

      His reaction is absolutely priceless.

      He wobbles a bit and almost loses his balance. For a moment I think he’s going to collapse on top of me, but he steadies himself in time. When he looks up, I almost burst out laughing in spite of myself. He’s gawking at me, jaw slack with shock and eyes the size of dinner plates.

      I feel a rush of wicked pleasure. Imagine that. I’ve actually managed to fluster him.

      I like the feeling.

      I almost forget what I’m supposed to be doing. I shake my head vehemently and concentrate on...uhm...feeling my way around.

      My hands are moving under his pants, but all I can feel are bunched-up rolls of fabric. With a sigh of frustration, I hook my fingers under the back hem of his shirt and pull it free of his jeans, allowing me better access. Then I slip my hands underneath again.

      A little gasp escapes him, and he tries to inject a bit of amusement into the situation. “You know, Claire, you could’ve picked a better time to do this...”

      His voice trails off. It’s a weak joke, and we both know it. I’ve never thought about it before, but maybe humor’s one of the ways he handles a delicate situation.

      Well, having a girl grope his butt is as delicate a situation as he can get into...oh, God. I just said ‘grope’.

      His skin is smooth and warm, and his body skitters away instinctively from my chilled fingers. My hand is a little cold, I admit...

      Wait a minute...skin?

      He makes a tiny sound in his throat. I swallow hard.

      I’m not enjoying this. I swear I’m not. I’m doing this for our survival. That’s it.

      So why am I trying to stifle my smile on his shoulder?

      It’s because I’m just realizing the ridiculousness of our situation. Claire Redfield actually has a legitimate reason to cop a feel from Leon Kennedy.

      I can only imagine how we might explain this to a mortified Chris.

      Oh, no, sir, we weren’t doing anything. We were desperate, you see, ‘cause there wasn’t any ammo left and we were gonna die if we didn’t—no, sir, it wasn’t that kind of desperate—

      His sudden exclamation jars me out of my thoughts.

      “Claire!” Leon hisses. I nearly jump out of my skin. My hand seems to have accidentally wandered a little lower than it should.

      My cheeks start to burn, and my face now matches the pink of my sleeveless biker’s jacket.

      “Sorry,” I say in a muffled voice. I slide my hand higher, out of the nether range. Leon grunts in reply and sends me an accusatory stare. I glower back at him. It’s his fault I’m doing this, after all.

      “Hhhhheeeaaauurrgghhh...”

        Click CLICK.

      Oh, God. Uberlicker sounds like it’s about two or three feet away from us. Dammit, dammit, dammit...how could I have forgotten about—

      I continue to feel around, not caring now about where my hand’s going to end up. If Leon so much as twitches, then the coroners’re gonna find us dead together tomorrow morning with my hand down his pants. What a way to go.

      Oh, HELL no.

      Of all the places it had to be in...oh, no. What if it’s fallen all the way down—?

      Then I feel it.

      Slowly, carefully, I tug the Magnum Desert Eagle 50A&E free from Leon’s jeans, thumb the safety, and point it at Uberlicker.

      It rears up, head high, and snarls. The milky fluid that hangs from the needlepoint teeth dribbles over its chin. The enormous tongue rushes out toward us.

      I squeeze the trigger.

      *BLAM*

      The recoil on the gun is intense. I’m almost slammed to the ground, but Leon holds me tight.

      The first round catches Uberlicker on the side of its head. The tongue retracts. For a second it wavers. Then it charges at us, blind with rage.

      I don’t blink an eye.

      *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM* *BLAM*

      The powerful Magnum rounds stop him in midair. Two of them sear into the festering skin on its stomach and abdomen, burrowing deep inside before exploding. The third and fourth rounds hit him on the other side of its skull.

      It starts raining bright red drops as Uberlicker smashes into one of the bins, almost flattening it.

      I lower the gun for a moment, my arms trembling. But to my chagrin, I realize that Uberlicker’s not licked yet.

      It’s bleeding, its head a nearly unidentifiable grapefruit-shaped mass, stomach contents leaking from the gaping hole in its gut. But it’s still moving. Not moving as in dragging itself in a generally pathetic manner, but really moving.

      Toward us.

      I clench my jaw and pull off three quick rounds. I know full well that the Magnum’s running out of ammo.

      *BAM* *BAM* *BAM*

      The three shots nick into its flesh, but it doesn’t even flinch. And it’s closing in.

      Seven feet, six...

      Shitshitshitshitshitshi—

      *BAM*

      The little street lamp on the wall to our immediate left suddenly falls and breaks on the concrete.

      What the hell?! That wasn’t my Magnum—

      Five feet, four...

      ShitshitshitshitSHI—

      Three...

      “Claire, now!”

      Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Leon holding out his arm, shotgun in hand. A thin thread of smoke curls up lazily from the end of the barrel.

      Hold on a second...of all the things he could’ve done with that shot, why’d he choose to knock the lamp out of the wall?

      Two feet...

      “CLAIRE, NOW!” Leon yells.

      And suddenly I understand. Lamp. London. Shoot.

      One...

      I aim the Magnum at the watery liquid that leaks from the shattered lamp.

      Uberlicker steps into the mess and pauses, lifting its bloody head in our direction, as if appraising us—appraising our puny weapons. It knows they can’t hurt him. Not anymore. No matter how much firepower we pump into it, it’s just going to adapt. And adapt. And adapt...

      It bares its teeth, and it almost looks like it’s smiling.

      Like it’s taunting me. Like it’s daring me to shoot and see that I can’t hurt it. It knows it’s invincible and it’s daring me to prove otherwise.

      Arrogant bastard.

      “Burn,” I hiss.

      It lunges at us. And I let him have it.

      *BLAM*

      There’s a flash of light as the gas ignites.

      And Uberlicker goes out in a blaze of glory.

      Leon moves fast and pulls my paralyzed body out of the fire’s way. We hit the ground rolling.

      The horrible sounds of Uberlicker’s death knells send chills up my spine, and I lift my head to look at it.

      I’m hypnotized by the way it burns. First the skin of the jaw melts away, revealing the bone underneath. The mandible unhinges and drops to the ground, followed by singed pieces of rotten flesh. The rest of its skin continues to melt away from the heat, but it’s still shrieking.

      It flops around for a bit, desperately trying to seek relief from the fire that clings stubbornly to it. For a moment I think that it isn’t going to die, that it’s going to keep pursuing us—flames and all.

      And then the next moment it slumps down on the stained concrete, a black-charred, twitching mass, and expires. I let out a breath I never knew I was holding.

      Suddenly the ground underneath shifts, and I groan. Dammit—that toxin must still be affecting my system...

      Oh. It’s just Leon breathing beneath me.

      I pin him with an incredulous stare. “You said that shotgun was out of ammo.”

      Of all the things I had to say, I just had to say that. Not “good job!” or “we really did it this time!” but “you said that shotgun was out of ammo”. Yup, ladies and gentlemen, Claire Redfield’s trademark sarcasm is making a comeback.

      Leon lays the back of his head against the hard ground and gazes up at me. I feel an unsettling sense of deja vu. Just a minute ago I was the one on the bottom, gazing up at him.

      “I only said that ‘cause one shell wasn’t going to take out that thing anyway,” he replies.

      “Oh.”

      There’s nothing else to say. Uberlicker’s dead as a doornail and I’m not about to complain about how he got that way.

      Without warning, the events of the last sixty seconds sink in, and I’m overwhelmed by fatigue. I need to lie down, but I don’t want to touch the concrete again. So I do the next best thing and collapse on top of Leon.

      After a moment, I feel his hands thread through my hair.

      “Leon.”

      His fingers freeze and pull away abruptly. “Hmmm?”

      “We’re alive,” I breathe. There’s awe in my voice.

      He’s silent for a second. Then he wraps his arms around my shoulders and hugs me to him, pressing his cheek against the crown of my head. The unexpected action catches me off guard.

      “You bet your ass we are,” he whispers. I think there’s awe in his voice, too.

      I bury my face in his chest, listening to his heartbeat. I have to know that he’s alive, too.

      We lie there like that for a minute. For a second I’m struck by just how comfortable everything is. The Umbrella Corporation, lickers, and zombies seem so far away now. I wouldn’t mind staying like this...

      “We better get going, Claire.”

      I sigh ruefully and push myself up. Leon gets to his feet as well and brushes off his pants. Silently, I hand him his Magnum and he takes it, not meeting my eyes.

      There’s something else on his face, too. Something that almost looks like guilt.

      Guilt...?

      There’s a palpable sense of discomfort that descends upon us, and we quickly look about for something to do. I pluck my sticky, dripping shotgun from the pile of licker innards while Leon stands to the side, checking the Magnum cartridge as if he’s expecting to find the meaning of life engraved into one of the remaining rounds inside.

      He looks up at me, face carefully blank. “Ready?”

      I nod. God, this is so awkward.

      Instead of heading back to the car, he continues to stare at me, contemplating. Then he steps close, his face a few inches away from mine, and bends down toward me. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from sucking in a breath. He’s so close that I can actually smell the strawberry flavor from the BubbleYum he’s been chewing.

      And then he nearly gives me a coronary by reaching out and stroking his thumb softly over my cheek.

      I gawk at him, my mouth agape, and he smiles.

      “Blood,” he says.

      What? Is that supposed to be some sort of twisted cop pick-up line?

      He sees the confusion on my features and quickly holds up his thumb. Sure enough, there’s a red stain on it. Licker blood.

      I pray to God that my cheeks aren’t coloring as I look back up at him. It wouldn’t do to let him know that he can fluster me, too.

      “Oh,” I mumble.

      What the hell happened to my vocabulary?

      He grins at me again, and I can see the HappyLeon facade reasserting itself. I swear, this guy could give Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde a run for their money.

      I think it’s about time I punt off this new, speechless Claire and bring in the old, outspoken one.

      “All right, let’s get moving,” I order gruffly, noting with relief that the awkward spell between us has been shattered.

      Leon nods and cocks his Magnum while I do the same with my shotgun. For the life of me, I don’t know what good our weapons are going to do against what may be lurking inside Umbrella Main HQ, but they’re better than nothing. Even if they do happen to be rather low in ammo at the moment...

      “There’s more ammo in the car,” Leon tells me, out of the blue.

      He’s a mindreader, I tell you.

      Then again, I hope not.

      There’s a tiny smile on my face as we jog out of the alley together. I don’t know why, but I just have the feeling that everything’s going to be all right—as long as we’re with each other. We do better together. He backs me up and I do the same for him.

      Teamwork. It’s a new concept for me, but it works.

      I’m still worried for Chris, though—not to mention Jill and Sherry and all those people who matter to me. I’m worried that Umbrella’s going to find a way to get to them. But as long as I’m around, they’re not even gonna get close. I’ll make sure of that.

      And as for Ada...

      You know, even the thought of Ada Wong doesn’t bug me as much. He probably does love her—and she him—but somehow my mind keeps on flashing back to that alleyway, and I wonder. I don’t know why. It’s complicated. I can’t explain it, so I won’t even try.

      We approach the car. I sneak a furtive glance at my “companion” as he checks inside, and I remember what Jill said earlier. Well, I’m not about to complain now. I can’t imagine being paired up with anyone else.

      And for the first time, between me and him and Chris and Jill, I believe that we a very real chance of taking down the Umbrella Corporation. Once and for all.

      “Hey, Leon.”

      This time he glances over in my direction. “Yeah?”

      “Thanks.” For not abandoning me. For putting up with me. For a lot of things. It’s a small word, but its connotations run deeper than he’ll ever know.

      He smiles as he retrieves a box of shotgun shells and Magnum rounds from the bottom of the drivers’ seat. “Anytime, Claire,” he says.  “Anytime.”       

F I N I S

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