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The electric hum of emergency lights is not much to distract an anxious mind.
It certainly hasn't been for him, as long as he can remember. He knows it can't be for his wife, no matter how much she tries to soothe herself with mindless tasks, checking in with other women around them, changing words with their husbands and partners, and just breathing against him, murmuring breathless words he feels are like prayer to return them home without any harm.
The emergency shelter they've huddled down is no longer filled with only panic, but also fear that they'll never see sunlight again.
At least, not alive.
He holds her, offering the support when he can and she needs it, and others encouraging murmurs of his own to her, their words becoming shapeless and motionless filler into the still room. If he'd close his eyes, he could make her believe it'd be over and they'll be safe because he'll do his all to protect his family, until he'd take his last breath.
But he won't, because he can't. Can't promise to his love that there is nothing to worry about. Because he is out of his depth.
Victor Kennedy doesn't, for once in his life, know how he can keep his family out of harms way.
It hurts. Hurts to know he can't shield them from cruel world.
(He knows it's selfish. To keep them away from reality. They deserve to live, have lives and families who they can call their own. He knows Mary is his biggest blessing. His anchor. And how he is that for her.
His children deserve their lives, despite how he wishes they wouldn't have to face the cruel reality of pain and suffering.)
But this isn't the cruel world he knows. This is much, much worse, than what he has seen only in concepts, as possibilities and on paper. This is world is from his nightmares.
And, it seems, from Leon's too.
He knows his son. (Does he, really?) He knows the carefree, young boy straight from academy, that had his eyes set towards something new, something real, that spark he knew would at some point dim little to the unwavering loyalty and determination he knew, but it would never be stomped away. He knows that.
He knew the look in his eyes, as they went on with their week. Leon smiled, offered them laughs. But his eyes, those eyes he had known for so long, have never been like this.
The loyalty shines still, and determination, but between these two times, the spark has disappeared. It's like a lifetime has happened between them seeing each other.
His son has changed, and he, his father, can only watch from sidelines. Because he doesn't know this world, this life, but Leon knows.
Seems like has known for a long time.
(How long? He doesn't dare to think. Not when his wife depends on him.)
(And might be the last one to do so.)
He glances where Mary has shuffled closer to a mother, who is holding her child and desperately trying to keep them silent.
Iris would know, what to check for in here. Nolan would know how to keep people calm. Jason would know how to help keeping people from doing stupid things. But none of them are here. And neither is Leon.
As much as he wanted to make sure they all get through this apparent outbreak, as his mind at one point supplies, he could keep them all safe. They slipped away, blinded by a desperate need. Gone like, dare he say, Leon, all those years ago.
How he wishes it won't be like that again.
It must've been some time when they are thrown of the routine by something new.
He tenses little, when he hears a promising sound of aircraft from above. The people around raise their eyes, hope filling their eyes, as the silence falls over the tight space when everyone strains to hear their possible savior.
It doesn't help the shock when a firearm goes off, closer than they would hope.
(Downstairs even, maybe)
They keep listening, gunshots echoing in horrific silence (there aren't even that many) and a loud shattering interrupts the silence as suddenly outside becomes a battlefield, orders barked as guns go off, so many times and they tense as they fear for the worst and don't even dare to wish for the best.
"Survivors, here!"
The stillness in the room bursts away as the door is opened with force, and they are met with bright lights shining on them. He squints to see an outline of a man behind the light. The light cone sweeps over them, before it moves away with the soldier to give way to another, with submarine gun held on his hands as he looks quickly over them. He looks scuffed, but less than them.
"Captain Ghillan, BSAA, South American branch. Is there any injured in your mids?"
A tension bleeds out of him, as they look at their savior. Around them the voices join together, with every word lighter as they say with relief that no, there aren't. The relief seeps deeper, as the sudden hope takes hold.
Saved. They are being saved.
"Good," he nods, and now he can see a strained smile on his face as he turns towards the one who found them, "Call an evac team, sector 2-D."
After sharp nod man moves away from them, his hand going for his radio. Captain Ghillan turns back to them, with reassuring smile, "It's okay. You are safe now."
They are slowly helped out, as the team that has found them moves away to give way for another, that starts to spill from doorway. He is helped to step out exactly like others, guided to their group. The captain looks over them, before nodding to the soldier, who order them to stay close behind them.
Order they all follow easily after all that has happened.
They walk the emergency routes towards the exits. Their lead team keeping sure they stay calm and collected, moving the whole time at reasonable pace despite being such a large group and after them Captain Ghillan's team looks out for their backs, alongside being ready to eliminate threats still lingering around.
From time to time their movement halts for a moment, as the front of formation moves to cover them, before they are steered around those places. He at first dismisses those, but after few his curiosity gets too big to ignore.
His eyes look down, and he should avert his gaze but he finds that he can't once he has looked down.
Animals. Dog-like, with limbs filled with muscles that should twitch from tension, with power of a predator and lust for blood. The snout that trips blood on carpet, but less than the wounds.
Because the other thing that links those all on their path, are the near identical gunshot wounds on them.
Every single one of them put down with a bullet straight through head.
He can stomach that, digest it layer by layer in a way that doesn't hinder him. But when they get to the front, he staggers.
There's nothing systematical, nothing indicating this is done with the desperation, the need of surviving and knowledge of doing it quickly. This is desperate attempt with no attention to detail or cruelty, clearly without any guilt that should be attached to acts like these.
Victor has seen many pointless deaths. But this is something beyond that.
He feels they are interrupting something... almost sacred. As they stand here, among others that have lost their lives, he feels grateful, despite how wrong it feels to be for this massacre. But it also holds his lungs, leaving him so empty. So many lost their lives, so many would never see another day.
And yet he can't avert his eyes from their faces, desperately searching them for familiarity. For something he wishes to miss, wishes he doesn't need to see with his own eyes but still wants, even if for a twisted closure. He doesn't want to make it real, but does it for himself.
He looks for the traces of his family in these mangled bodies because he doesn't want to find them.
There are already people, who wear safety gear, hazman suits with spills of liquids dripping from the bodies that they move, carefully bagging them up. Methodically, not staying to meander the rightfulness or morality of this.
Behind them, through the glass front that now is splattered with remains and cracks running across the transparent surface they can see the ocean, with it's waves keeping up their lazy movement, not even sign of wrongness that sticks with them all. Like life could just continue like nothing ever happened. Moving on around the frozen place.
They spill out of the building like water out of dam, having been locked behind walls so it could be used. The breath of fresh air is not enough to get rid of the smell that clings onto them, but it feels freeing to get their lungs full of air that doesn't carry the rotten feeling with it that over takes the mind.
They look filthy among the apparent task force that has been sent to save them. Squads move around clearing, chatter filling the before so eerie silence as aircrafts they heard move in the air, few heading away from the coast line. He watches them as they move towards large tents set near hotel's parking lot.
A metallic glint behind those reveals the chain link fences surrounding them all. Like this is a prison.
Maybe it is. But not for them he hopes.
They walk past groups of soldiers, who watch them with sharp eyes. He sees in their stances their experience, the way conversations flow and end in natural movements, like it's normal to stop for quick moments to ensure it's clear. They hold their weapons loosely, ready to snap up in seconds but not stressed, no, there's only focus. Profession and skill, honed with years. How they look their little group with a sense of sympathy, but stay still alert so if any of them make a break for their faces, there will be no more casualties.
He may not know surely, but he can recognize that from them regardless.
These men and woman are ready to lay their lives for greater good, but unwilling to go out without a fight. Their eyes glint with understanding, something they themselves lag compared to them.
They know how the rules are laid in this world. They know how to play with those monsters.
And then, behind them, near the middle of busy clearing, he to his relief finally sees and recognizes him.
His posture, so uncomfortably familiar stance that Victor needs for a second to remind himself still belongs to him, his hair hung limply over his face, his clothes that are covered partially with dark liquid he knows is what he doesn't want to admit it being. His jacket, still on him like an armor against this world. His jawline, that he can recognize from childhood photos, yearbooks, graduating photos, from their lives. The way he shifts, in this sea of soldiers, as he watches by. The way he blends in like he didn't belong anywhere else.
Victor breaths little more harshly. Mary squeezes his hand softly, meeting his eyes halfway as he glances at her, because this wasn't because of his health, or anything else. This is about Leon.
Leon who has nothing that separates him from this all.
This is Leon's world, he realizes with a sudden stop. In this sea, Leon isn't a sole stick bopping up and down, the sea throwing it around. He is not even a water bottle, that floats on top of what it has been filled with, so close to it in all but in reality, no.
Leon is a wave, in an ocean of many waves.
He can see it, and he wonders how he never recognized it before. But maybe it's because they aren't an ocean.
As Leon stands there, so sure of himself and in his element, he realizes, he suddenly sees a bigger picture. Not it all, that he can't do on his own, but enough. Enough puzzle pieces has been laid down for him to understand the slightest.
Leon talks to another soldier, like his mirror in sense, and he's just as professional as he could imagine his son to be. Nothing like he was with them, when he just looked... He looked lost.
Maybe with them he had not been the wave he now is, but a puddle on dry ground.
The spell doesn't seem to break, not even when they realize the two of them are the last of their group still there. He looks where the Captain is lingering, giving commands and advice to his men.
"Thank you," he says, almost voiceless. Captain Ghillan looks at him and shakes his head.
"Thank you," he says, almost voiceless. Captain Ghillan looks at him and shakes his head.
"Don't thank us," he denies, with something in his voice that makes the words worse. "We were just the clean up."
His eyes wander away, and without even glance, Victor has feeling who he has found with them.
He leaves them. They move away.
The med-tent has many medics already in work as they enter. They don't get chance to hesitate before someone has already approached them and they are triaged, and sent for a medic to check the rest.
Medic is friendly, greeting them and filling base information efficiently. Victor sits with Mary, as the medic finishes drawing her blood sample, before turning to him and doing the same. They listen as his radio chatters information, useless strings to them but still so much better than the low hum of emergency lighting and quiet murmurs in dark, scared of another strike.
He finds himself slowly relaxing, the noise lulling him to false relief.
Medic turns from his notes, looking over them last time before confirming that as of now, they weren't in direct danger.
"While we wait the results, we need to make sure the possible infection doesn't spread. The teams have set up a quarantine spaces, where you can stay, to make sure nothing won't spread to, or from, you," he tells them, "right now everything looks good, but there has been some cases where that doesn't matter. So I'd advice staying in the quarantine."
It's not much of a request as it is an order. But Victor can respect it.
"Of course." He nods.
Medic smiles at them from under his mask. "Good." He turns over, adding their samples to cart. He checks the papers next, before looking up again.
"Did you have any relatives or friends with you? We can keep an eye out and try to get you to same quarantine zone if they too are clean, at least."
"Our children," Mary breaths next to him, "Iris, Nolan, Jason and..."
Her voice wavers, and he finishes quietly, "...And Leon."
"I'll see what I can do," medic marks the information down, "the surnames?"
"Kennedy," he breaths, "just Kennedy."
Medic nods along, but when he skids over the text his calm demeanor breaks little, as the looks over the form for the second time, before he shakes his head and looks at them again.
"We'll make a note," he promises.
"Thank you," Mary smiles, as medic flags down a soldier on sidelines. She moves to them, and medic shares quick word with her, instructing her of where to lead them.
Their walk is done in silence, and as their guide leads them to big tent filled with rows of benches and others, they are finally allowed to settle down. Their corner is not so busy yet, with only them and few others hanging around.
It takes more than he dares to admit to get to the point when the adrenaline starts to wear off. He finds himself starting to slip out too, before getting the grip again over himself.
Not yet. Not when they depend on you.
Only when Iris steps past the curtains, Nolan and Jason just step behind her he feels the pressure releases his heart completely.
Mary is the first on her feet, quickly crossing the distance to give crushing hug to Iris. "Are you alright?"
"Not a scratch, I promise mom," she leans on Mary, her eyes shutting down as her voice becomes watery. "Not a scratch."
Nolan accepts the hug graciously, but holds his hands just so stiffly. He still leans on embrace, but looks like his brain is trying to crack a nut with only pure muscle.
Victor has to take a second for him so they can talk, and make sure he gets to wind down. But now his priority is on Jason. Jason who stands to side, and sinks to sit at the side of tent. Who looks like he has shrunk in size.
Nolan has pragmatic heart and calm mind. Iris let's herself deflate when needed, when safe. But Jason's heart is like sponge, that keeps moisture inside until someone squeezes. He loves dearly, but world has bitten him few too many times so he nibbles it back now, with the love disguised in.
Victor has seen few times, when the nibble has become bite. And this look? He knows it.
Mary keeps tight hold of Iris and Nolan, speaking with them in hushed tones so he stands up, and moves to Jason's side. He carefully sits down next to him, and waits.
"I made a mistake, dad. I think. Like real big, I can't… I hurt Leon with it."
Victor breathes in slowly. Jason keeps twisting his hands.
"There was guns. And those animals. Leon tried to help but I couldn't… I couldn't but mess up. Why I keep messing up?"
He looks up, "I called him liar. I got stuck on it and next I was on ground, and I almost-"
Victor waits.
"I almost died." Jason stares at the fabric walls around them. He mouths almost without sound, "I almost died, dad."
Victor doesn't know what to do.
He hears a voice hitching, and looks up to see Mary's grip tightening oh so slightly around Jason's siblings. He feels the pressure tightening around his own throat. For a moment it's true.
For a moment six becomes five.
And then four. And then-
Then he snaps back and gathers the thoughts to keep them at bay. He needs to be anchor for their ship in this storm. He needs to stop them from drowning further.
So he asks him. "Let's think about it. Did you die?"
Jason shakes his head weakly.
"Good. Did someone else die?"
"No."
"Did you kill someone?"
"No!" His head snaps up to look him. His eyes are uncertain. "No. But it feels like I, like I did."
Iris has become quiet. Jason continues.
"I know I didn't. I swear it. It's just," his eyes fall back his still hands, "feels like I've done something worse. Something I can't take back."
Nolan has his eyes turned down. Mary looks at them. Jason looks him at eyes, before his gaze wanders away. Again.
"Why did Leon lie?" He wonders aloud.
Victor is quiet for a long time. He considers the question.
Leon had certainly kept them at arms length. He knows there was something between them that keeps tearing the non-existent wound open time and time again. Whose wound it is has become unclear. Only thing that is clear is the hurt that spawns without warning between them, spreading the chasm between them wider and wider until only distant sight is only contact.
How he wished to take that hurt away. Wished he could stop it appearing.
How he'd love to turn the clock back to see the young man his memory tries to keep close. How he'd love to save him from where he's drowning.
Leon, so young and determined. Their Leon.
That picture is covered with new lines of a sketch, drawing over and erasing… No, not erasing. Filling it. Adding details and marks they have recognized.
Leon, so sure of himself, facing this death like he's old friend of it's. Leon and his sudden knowledge that never came from nowhere. Leon he almost didn't recognize, but he did. He recognized because, he realizes, it's the same Leon.
Same Leon they had sent to his death without knowing. Same Leon they saw out there, handling the situation with the urgency it demanded from start. Same Leon that made them survive.
Because they had survived. So did he.
In what sense, he doesn't know. But there never was anything new. Not with them, and not with Leon.
"I don't know why," he admits. Jason looks up. "I don't know why Leon decided to keep this all away. I don't know if this is even the truth."
Nolan eyes find their own. Victor doesn't let the silence mellow too long.
"Right now we can only wait. And see if maybe, just maybe, we can get explanation."
He can see the arguments starting to stir and then get swept away by the currents.
"It's all we can offer back now."
They can only wait to see, if their family will remain intact, whatever it'll mean.
Several hours have gone by when finally someone pokes their head in the tent they reside. Behind him they see the evening starting to creep in, with the clouds on the sky getting a golden coat.
"Kennedy?"
Hesitation is painfully clear in his voice, and only when they stop, looking up at him expecting some kind of news, his posture looses the slightest amount of tension.
"You were asked for," he says and Victor's heart skip a beat.
"For what?" He stands up, calm despite the pounding feeling of it being no other than-
"You have a ride out."
Leon.
"Of course," he nods, shocked. Behind him he can hear shuffles, as the rest of them too start to become alert.
"Follow me," he turns to lead them.
With no other idea what to do, they soon find themselves following him. Out there are no longer as many people loitering around, and instead to his surprise he notices new people have started to arrive inside the area.
He takes couple quicker steps forward, and catches up to the man leading them towards that opening. After getting acknowledgement from him he asks the question that has burned his throat since hearing this new plan. Despite having the feeling what the answer would be.
"Why we? And who asked for this?"
The soldier shrugs, continuing to walk.
"I don't know. Something way up, above my clearance for sure."
He falls back again, finding pace with Nolan. He has his own thinking face on, his brow furrowed as he stares the back of their guide, no doubt having heard all. That was not what he expected.
Yet again a piece. But it feels that with each this puzzle expands, going beyond they have knowledge. Like a vast ocean.
They arrive to a car, seemingly some sort of troop transporter, where they also find their bags waiting. Everything seems to get weirder and weirder. And no matter how hard he tries there isn't nothing he can take as a truth, as they ride towards what turns out to be an airport.
There's plane on tarmac waiting. Coming to it their ride stops, letting them to hop off. As they unpack themselves, trying to orient themselves around something his eyes catch on to people waiting for them. And with them he notices him as soon as he too turns to glance at them.
Leon watches him with sharp eyes, not too unlike like his own.
Let us help you, he says with his eyes. Like I promised.
Leon turns his eyes away, and shouldering his own bag he steps on to the plane.
As they follow him, Victor has feeling this plane ride will change them all, be it for better or worse. And only for his peace of mind he pretends it will be for better.
Let it be for better.