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After the first day on the job presented him with an outbreak he has not been trained for, little ever surprises him anymore. Not the horrified hostility that greets him just when he's reached his target, not the gun held to his head before he could begin extraction, and certainly not the crossbow jammed in his face that blocks the other way. The latter evokes mild annoyance and memories of mocking smiles, red, revealing blouses, and promises neither kept nor broken.
"Who are you?" the man behind him rasps. All around, hard eyes stare at him, pitiless once again after the short-lived surprise of his unannounced visit. The click of a safety resounds in his head.
"Name's Leon."
"What do you want?"
The Colt's muzzle digs into the base of Leon's skull once more, to emphasize the pressing nature of the question.
His comm crackled. "Leon, are you okay? I lost your signal. What happened?"
"I'm kind of in the middle of something right now, Hunnigan."
"Who're you talkin' to?"
The crossbow-wielder in front of him exchanges nervous glances with the guy at his back, who Leon supposes must be the ringleader. If he weren't two inches from having his eyeball skewered, Leon might have been impressed at their restraint. So far no one has shot at him.
"Easy," he soothes. In a show of surrender, Leon drops his weapon and slowly lifts his arms. He motions toward his head and reveals the earpiece hidden behind his bangs.
That's all it takes to catch them off-guard. Gives him a chance to demonstrate what he has since been trained for. Sweeping the legs from under the ferret-faced archer, he grabs the barrel at his back, jabs the gun-hand at the wrist, and disarms the guy before wheeling behind him and pointing his own gun at his head.
Immediately, everyone draws on him.
"Dad!" the boy with the Sheriff's hat calls out, wary but not frightened, before even he hoists his rifle.
That went well. He notices his comm lying at his feet and lugs the guy a little to the side, so he wouldn't step on it. It must have fallen out during the scuffle.
"It's okay, Carl. I got this."
"You asked me what I wanted," Leon says. "I want you to all calm down and listen to me. Can you do that?"
"Not 'nless you tell us why you went 'n attacked Eugene for," the guy on the ground spits and kicks some dust at Leon's boots.
Figures they'd get the wrong message. Leon's ill-equipped to deal with people. And this lot may be even less than that; they've got the feral look of people who've had to survive in the wild on little food and less security. This is hostile country. Leon has no idea what they've been through or what they've done to get this far, nor has he any interest in finding out. Sure as hell wasn't pretty, that much he knows.
"My objective is to rescue Dr. Porter, not to harm him."
"Rescue?"
This response baffles them into lowering their guns. Apparently they haven't heard that word in a while. He releases the leader from his chokehold, but keeps his Colt at the ready. The guy rubs his neck, then helps his comrade off the ground.
"I don't know you or your motives," Leon says. "And I don't have time to find out what your intentions with Dr. Porter are."
A mustachioed ginger with a military air about him breaks from the group and sidles up to Leon in measured steps. He leaves a foot-length of space between them, towering, as if that would intimidate Leon.
"And you expect us to just pack him up and send him your way? Not happening, my friend."
"Odd choice of words," Leon scoffs, but the man ignores him.
"He's part of our group. And not going anywhere without us. You say you don't know us? Guess what, we don't know you either. You're a stranger. Why should we even trust you?"
Ah, the tight-knit community of survivors, brought together by chance and braving the horrors of their new everyday life together. No outsiders allowed.
Leon could relate. If anything, the last outbreak taught him not to trust anyone whose record he's not familiar with. But he's not here to reminisce. He has a mission to accomplish, and no time to earn their trust.
To look cooperative, Leon brandishes his D.S.O. credentials and explains his objective: namely, getting Dr. Porter to safety. They listen, but they don't say a thing. They just exchange glances. Which is telling enough.
"Never heard of your organization," the military guy speaks up.
"We're the good guys, in case you're wondering."
"Anyone can say that. Your badge doesn't mean a thing here."
"Guys," the Asian boy chimes up. He brushes his black hair out his face and, while talking, gestures excessively with his hands as though translating his point into sign language. "If he's heading to DC for the same reasons we are, wouldn't it be a lot smarter for him to stick with us? That way, we'd have another pair of eyes, and he would be able to see that Eugene reaches their destination safely. Everybody wins."
"A group your size will only slow us down," Leon says.
"Tough luck, pretty boy," Ginger sneers. "There's no way you're leaving with Eugene otherwise."
"Look," the leader cuts in, "I don't trust you – none of us do. We don't want you with us and we're sure as hell not gonna leave one of our own with you."
Leon understands the sentiment, but there's really no time to discuss this. He didn't want to disclose any more information he has, because of its potential to create mass panic, but they leave him no choice. Every second they're not moving toward their goal reduces their chances of survival.
"Rick is right: we can't just leave Eugene in your care," the Asian guy says. Leon thinks he might be Korean, although none of his inflections give him away. Third or fourth generation then. "Looking out for him by yourself would be suicide."
"I've handled worse situations, believe me. From the few dead guys I've seen, this would be a cakewalk."
"I think you're underestimating the dangers out there," Rick says, unimpressed.
"And I think you're underestimating me."
Leon's not about to rattle down his numerous run-ins with B.O.W.s – even if they believed him, which is highly unlikely unless they've encountered one of those monsters themselves, the clock is ticking.
"No offense, pal," Ginger says, "but we've come this far without your aid and we're gonna continue not to need it. But if it puts your mind at rest, we'll tell the guys in DC you said hello."
Leon takes a deep breath. There's no way around it, is there?
"If we wait any longer around here," he finally says, "none of us will make it out alive. The government has a contingency plan for this sort of scenario, and that's wiping us clean off the planet. It's happened before."
"What do you mean?" the brunette next to the Korean asks. They exchange worried glances.
"It means if Dr. Porter and I don't make it to our rendezvous point twelve miles northeast from here by tomorrow morning, we're all toast. At oh six hundred, Dr. Porter will be presumed dead and the men behind the red button are gonna launch missiles over the contaminated areas. And these guys are very trigger-happy. They've been looking forward to redrawing maps ever since this whole thing started, but haven't gotten the clearance to do so until now. They're not gonna wait any longer."
As expected, the news doesn't go down too well. There's an explosion of concerned muttering, and Leon catches Dr. Porter's eye. It strikes him as odd that the man hasn't said a word during the whole exchange as though standing idly by while others bartered about him were an everyday occurrence. Maybe it is. Maybe he's waiting to be addressed directly.
"Wait a minute," Ginger breaks the chatter off again, "if what you say is true and so much is at stake, how come they'd only send one operative down here to retrieve Eugene? Sounds mighty suspicious, if you ask me."
"I told you, groups would only slow us down."
"Right," he snorts. "For all we know you could be a maniac who'd brain Eugene the minute you're both out of sight."
"Dr. Porter," Leon finally decides to ask the man himself if no one else would. "May I ask your personal opinion in the matter?"
He stiffens at being called upon, as though he has drifted off on private thoughts again in the meantime.
"The situation is dire," he says softly enough that Leon has to wonder if it wasn't just the wind he's heard rustling through the leaves. "It's not out of the question that the government will go forward with these radical measures. I've seen it happen before." He pauses for effect. "That's why I think we should set out as soon as possible, to minimize the odds."
"Rick," the brunette speaks up, almost imploring. "Beth is still out there."
"I know, Maggie." he nods, eyes trained on Dr. Porter. He seemed to be considering the situation and how to proceed. "That's why we're not gonna leave."
"What?" Ginger roars. "You heard the man. Regardless of whether this missile threat is real or not, if we want to stop this, we have no other choice than to get Eugene to DC as fast as possible."
"No one gets left behind," Rick says, the intensity in his gaze almost feral. "We're family. We look out for each other. And right now, Beth needs us. We need to go find her."
"We could split up," the redneck archer suggests, in a low voice throaty from either disuse or too many cigarettes, so different from his previous outburst.
Everybody turns to look at him, as though surprised to hear him enter the debate.
"Abraham 'n Rosita take Eugene to DC," he continues, "the rest of us looks for Beth. We can catch up with them after that."
Rick takes a moment to think this over.
"Please, Dad," the kid – Carl – says, very likely aware of how stubborn his father is. "It's the best way."
"Fine," Rick says finally, mollified by his son's pleading words.
"That's settled then," Leon says and picks up his comm, the compromise something he can live with. He doesn't trust these people to have his back, but he can take out these two if necessary. This Abraham guy, at the very least seems to be as eager to reach DC as he is.
He just hopes the other group won't be catching up with them before they've reached their goal. He's had quite enough friction to last him several weeks.