Chapter Text
"Michelle? Oh, fuck—Michelle, are you-?" Bryan stared at his phone as the call disconnected fully, then immediately redialed her number. He shook the device few times, glancing back and forth at the road then the screen, but the call kept stubbornly refusing to go through.
"Goddamn it, she's going to think I freaking hung up on her," Bryan whined, turning the device on and off again rapidly.
When that didn't work, he threw his stupid Nokia down into the passenger seat in frustration, with a bit too much force. It ricocheted and disappeared. He cringed. That thing was like a brick, and it had come dangerously close to knocking his precious cargo off the seat. He leaned over to put the seat belt over the transport bag just in case.
Bryan let out a careful breath, eyes flitting between the road and wherever his phone had disappeared off to. He groaned, he'd have to stop if he wanted to try calling Michelle again. This whole thing was really huge and scary and he didn't really really want to talk about it right now while on the job, but he really really really needed to. And he had to ask her to please not go to Katie's stupid house.
He eased his foot off the accelerator, pulling over to the side. The car skidded a bit forward more on the icy road before coming to a full halt, making Bryan's heart skip a beat. This weather was a fucking nightmare to drive in. He probably should've got his tires changed this winter like Michelle suggested. Of course, he'd dumbly ignored that in favour of saving money because his driving skills were perfectly fine. He grumbled as he unbuckled his seat belt and craned his upper body to look around the passenger seat.
"Fuckin'—stupid, ow, ow," he hissed as the gearshift dug into his stomach. He peeked into the crevice between the seat and the door, and rooted around blindly for what felt like minutes. After he finally dug the phone out, he promptly turned it back on. The screen had a tiny crack in it, a spiderweb in the corner. Shit, he hadn't thought he'd thrown it that hard. He thumbed at it as if trying to rub it away, chewing at his lip in frustration. He shouldn't be so careless with his things. God knows he can't afford a new phone.
There was a thunk behind him.
Bryan yowled, fumbling and accidentally returning his phone to the dark confines of his shitty car. He twisted his body around, straightening out his posture. He froze as he saw the woman. Her hands were pressed into the window, a mere few inches away. Her skin was a sickly pale, and he was close enough to notice something odd. When snowflakes landed on her face, they didn't melt, just stuck.
He tilted his head, she was only wearing a dress in the cutting cold. What was she thinking? He was shivering in his car with four layers on. And what was she thinking sneaking up on him like that?! He had the worst or best survival instincts of all time, depending on the situation. Michelle once tried throwing a surprise party for him, and he'd been so frightened he'd flung the groceries he'd gotten so hard that a can of soup hit Michelle's friend Pauline in the head and she had to get three stitches. Safe to say Pauline didn't like him anymore (he'd tried his best to give as many apologies as possible and pay partly for medical bills), and Michelle never tried to surprise him again.
"Ma'am, do you need help?" he asked, peering at her tentatively. She didn't respond. "Everything okay?" He was getting uncomfortable now. She simply kept glowering at him, heavy breaths fogging up the glass. He glanced at the cloudy mark and remembered the window between them. He gave an anxious apologetic smile. She must've not heard him. He began to roll down the window, rotating the hand crank quickly.
The moment there was a few inch gap, Bryan was shocked into stopping. The woman had immediately stuck an arm in and roughly grabbed onto his hair at the scruff of his neck, yanking his head towards her. Usually he'd be into that sort of thing, but not when they knock his skull against a window. Before his brain could catch up to what was going on, the pain scrambled his thoughts like pigeons. He yelped, and wrenched away from her grip, making her bang against the window now. She shrieked, and pulled his hair harder at an awkward angle, which stung like crazy.
"What the fuck, lady?!" he yelled, voice cracking, as they jolted this way and that, an absurd tug of war at the expense of his poor baby hairs. She shrieked at him, eyes bugging out of her head, making her look demented. Was there a mental asylum she'd escaped from nearby? Maybe she was a wild junky? Brain injury? Rabies? She spewed spit on the window as she went berserk. Definitely rabies. Oh God, he couldn't get rabies, he had to save some kid with a new pair of lungs or something. Rabies couldn't be transmitted through touch, could it?
Her grip was ironclad, but a light bulb appeared in his head as his hand pushed away from the car door to try and get some distance between them. He found the window crank and hastily started rolling it up again. Surely she'd let go, he'd thought dumbly. The glass edge indented into her skin prohibited anymore thrashing around, or retreating for that matter. He cranked it harder when she didn't let go. Blood dribbled down the window. Shit, he was really hurting her, but she wasn't faltering. Did rabies dull pain tolerance?
"Let go, you stupid, goddamn, idiot," he demanded through gritted teeth, turning the lever a centimetre with each word. His foot bumped into the gas pedal and he froze. His eyes flicked to her rabid growling face, then at the open road. Snowflakes danced in the headlights.
He slammed his Jordan down on the pedal, and quickly heard the skid of wheels followed by an odd ripping noise he didn't really register. The car swerved dangerously forward, and his shaky hands found the wheel quickly to correct it. Once he steadied his car, he became vaguely aware there were still fingers buried in the nape of his neck. His head jerked to his left. She couldn't have run with the car, how did she?—
The world was stained crimson. He blinked a couple times, rubbing at his eyes. Then he realized. The window was covered in blood, all originating from the woman's arm that had been ripped from the socket. He screamed, his foot coming down on the brake as if it was a huge spider. The car once again slid to a halt. His wide eyes were stuck to the road. That iron tang hit his nose heavy, making bile rise in his throat. He didn't think the window had been rolled that tight, nor that it was that strong. Fuck, fuck, he hadn't thought this through in the slightest.
Bryan peeked at it and gagged, looking away at the sight of tendons dangling. He unrolled the window a tad and just as the arm started falling into the car, he smacked it out with as little skin-to-skin contact as possible. It felt like he'd touched a snowman. The arm made a wet thud as it hit the snowy ground. He rolled the window all the way down, it produced a slick sound, the blood morbidly making it go down smoother. He breathed in quick breaths and puffed them out in wisps, hyping himself up.
Bryan stuck his head over the car door.
"No, no, no, fuck, Jesus, that's—fuck," he cursed, jolting back into the safety of his car. Now he was really hoping rabies dulled your pain tolerance. He had to go get her and take her to the hospital, it was the least he could do. Maybe they could reattach it. But what if she tried attacking him while they're driving? She would be in even less of her right mind due to the blood loss. He could somehow maybe strap her down in the back of the car by wrapping seatbelts around her. No, that wouldn't work. Jesus, how was he going to explain this to Michelle?
Bryan breathed in and out some gradually steadying breaths, and looked to his side-view mirror. He's glad he did that before getting out of his car, because he would've been tackled to the ground. 'Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear' he was sure glad for that. The woman ran full throttle towards his car, remaining arm outstretched. Fleshy short tentacles protruded from her blood-soaked shoulder and swung angrily around. He slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes doubling in size. He instantly put the pedal to the metal and sped away. He was fairly sure she'd manage just fine without him.
The gas station Bryan found was a welcome relief. They'd have a phone, he hadn't even attempted to stop and grab his in the past hour, it wouldn't work anyway. He'd call Michelle and they'd figure things out. Wait, did Michelle saying she was going to stay at Katie's mean she wanted a break? Oh, shit, he messed up big time. As he turned into the gas station lot, he realized two things in quick succession.
One, there was a police vehicle here (which weirdly had the door open). He could report the lunatic woman who attacked him so she could get help from a veterinarian or something like that. Those weird growths must've been from an animal parasite. He's seen those weird ant documentaries. What were those called again? Alien ants? He'd also definitely make clear to the officer that everything he did was in self-defence.
Second thing, he couldn't do anything listed in the first realization just yet because the officer was nowhere to be seen.
Bryan parked his car to the left of the police one, and turned the key, making it shudder off. His car must've suffered as much as him in the cold (he'd kept his window open to spare his eyes from the blood). He glanced over at the transport bag. It would be safe here, no one would rob from a car parked next to a cop car. He'd be quick. He did grab his phone though, he didn't want Michelle somehow calling him while he was not there.
He gazed into the windows of the gas station as he passed them. The headlights from a jeep nearby annoyingly did nothing to help him because the blinds were drawn. What type of gas station shuts the damn blinds? A closed one maybe, but the sign on the door said otherwise. Just when he thought he'd had enough blood for one day, the bright light poured in as he entered illuminated crimson smudges.
"Shit," he murmured, grimacing at it.
Snowflakes rushed inside, a lot more eager than him to enter. He hadn't truly considered why the officer would be there other than to get gas… Well, hopefully they had everything under control.
He took a step closer to get a better look at the blood and the door swung shut behind him, plunging him into darkness.
"Hello?" he said instinctively. In response, a couple of muffled gunshots sounded, startling him. He paused, straining his ears. There was a rustling sound. Slow dragging footsteps. Another gunshot that made him wince.
"Officer?" He dug a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it on. The warm glow lit the edges of the cold store around him and his eyes quickly adjusted to see a bit further. Someone was walking down the far aisle. He made his way over, making sure to grab a lollipop and candy bar (he was fucking hungry, okay?) and carefully step over the blood.
"I could really use your help," he said meekly, a bit of a laugh in the lilt of his voice. He rounded the corner to face someone who wasn't a police officer, but a gas station clerk whose neck had grown a mouth and teeth.
"Oh, fuck no," he backpedalled fast a few steps, tripping backwards over the store counter and landing hard on the concrete behind it. He hastily got up and started to throw anything he could get his hands on at the guy. BiC lighters, gum packs, a cheap rotating sunglasses stand, they struck true 30% of the time. It didn't slow him for a moment, the neck mouth crunched down on a Kit-kat. When the wacko was a few feet away, he found a half empty glass cola bottle under the counter and flung it at him.
Right when he thought he missed, the clerk's skull exploded and a loud bang sounded near his head. He heard the bottle shatter somewhere nearby.
"You don't work here," a voice says to his right. Bryan jumped, dropping his lighter and whipping around to face them. He was blinded by a flashlight right in his eyes, but that was quickly averted. The bright flash gave way to the face of a guy who wouldn't look out of place in an action movie. He wanted to say 'You're not a fucking cop' but his nerves were so shot he simply stammered incoherently (maybe a bit of that was due to the being really attractive thing). The man's eyes went wide, and he raised his gun back up, pointing it directly at him. Okay, maybe he was a cop. Bryan considered desperately begging to not be killed. He really didn't mean to rip that lady's arm off, he swore.
"Duck!" the man yelled, instead of pumping lead into his face. And honestly, he didn't have to tell Bryan twice. He put his arms on the back of his head and a gunshot rang out. He stayed there probably longer than needed, so action movie hero boy yanked him into running. He let himself be led around the store, dodging stray tentacles and mouths dripping with saliva.
They're almost at the exit when a shelf gets knocked over, trapping Bryan between it and another shelf. The deranged man behind it clawed at him as he fought to push it off. He got way too close for comfort to the three eyeballs that swung from their mutated sockets.
"Fuck you!" he groaned under the weight of the shelf. Another shot whizzed through the air. It missed, but made the zombie falter. Bryan used the moment to get a leg up and kick the shelf back.
He scrambled to catch up to the man, and in doing so knocked into him hard as he suddenly stopped before the door. He let out a cry of frustration, but then saw the completely regular woman in a sick red jacket (who he also thought for a moment must've been a model) opening the door. As she spotted the man's gun her hands shot up.
"Don't shoot!"
"Get down!" he ordered, jerking his head to the side. He'd had to shoot over people's heads today a lot hasn't he? He shot the creature in the forehead that was sneaking up on her, and Bryan pushed by them, not wasting any time. About a dozen zombies (God, they were fucking zombies) dragged their feet towards them. He gulped, and his eyes fell on his car. Fuck, why had he left the stupid organ in there?
"I'll be right back," he said, voice squeaky with uncertainty.
"What are you doing?!" the man shouted after him, as he dashed over and wrenched open the car door. He grabbed the bag and got it out from under the seatbelt, and spun around to run back over to them only to be met by a woman (women?) with two heads lurching towards him at a frightening pace. He turned around, making a break for it as fast as possible back the other way. He even tried sliding over the police car hood but ended up only falling on his ass.
A strong hand yanked him back to his feet like a rag doll, and opened the cop car's backdoor, throwing him in unceremoniously. He landed uncomfortably on his back and lay there for a moment. He didn't think he'd ever been more glad to be in the back of a police car before. He heard a thud against the window in front of him and bolted upright. A man with an unhinged jaw knocked at the glass with his head. He wouldn't be falling for that one again.
"Fuck off!" Bryan exclaimed, shimmying away from him to the left side of the vehicle. The creature was full on smashing his head into the window now, coating it with blood again. He clutched the transport bag to his chest, as if that would provide him any more safety. Just as the zombie broke the glass, Bryan got in a well-aimed kick to its nose, which crunched under his heel. The police car miraculously started up, rocketing into reverse and escaping the parking lot, on purpose hitting as many of those things as possible.
As they sped away, Bryan watched the horrid gas station grow smaller and smaller. He turned back around to the models in the car with him. He glanced between them, feeling like the odd one out. They were all breathing heavily in silence after the exhilarating escape, and he was surprisingly the first to bounce back.
"They were fuckin' friendly," he said mirthlessly, loosening his grip on the bag. A short exhale that could've been taken as a laugh escaped the man.
"What the hell is going on?" the woman asked, looking back over her shoulder.
"I don't know… hopefully, they'll have some answers back at the police station,” the man responded.
"You're a cop?" Bryan and she said at the same time.
"Yeah, I am. Leon Kennedy. You are?"
"Claire, Claire Redfield." Bryan grimaced. Shit, they both have names like movie protagonists as well.
"Do I have to say my full name too?" he said, it unintentionally came off as a bit snarky. Claire glanced at him through the rear-view mirror, an eyebrow raised.
"Well, you don't have to—" Officer Kennedy began, which made him regret the comment even more.
"No, uh, Bryan. I'm Bryan… Hodukavitch. Not a cop." As if that wasn't super apparent. He wanted to sew his mouth shut. "Hey, I thought police were usually in uniform?" he said, quickly shifting gears. Fuck, that was offensive too. He needed to stop offending the goddamn cop who saved his life.
"Not always, but in my case it's because I'm a rookie. This is my first day,” He explained, sounding a tad irritated. That would explain Kennedy's fresh as a daisy face.
"Oh, wow." Bryan frowned. "Fuck," he said before he could stop himself. He had assumed for the past little bit that Kennedy had a lot more experience than he actually did, what with the whole saving his sorry ass pretty effortlessly thing. "Sorry," he followed up with, tugging his toque lower.
"No, I wasn't expecting this either," the officer shrugged it off, a grim smile appearing on his face. Bryan thanked God that he mistook his reaction for him talking about the mutated monsters.
"Do you guys live around here?" Officer Kennedy inquired, Bryan was grateful for the subject change.
"Nope, and thank fuck for that," he responded, leaning an elbow against the car door to prop his chin up.
"Me neither. I'm looking for my brother, he's a cop too." Okay, now he wasn't eager to talk about the arm thing. He never did great with cops. Before he got his life (sorta, not really) back together, he'd seen the inside of a holding cell a couple of times after bad benders. He'd been clean for a while now, but he wouldn't be surprised if this night drove him to return to the bottle, or worse, the pill.
"Well, it's a good thing we found each other then. I don't know what to expect anymore," Kennedy said. Bryan felt something hollow open in his chest. He became very aware of how spacious it was in the backseats. He fiddled with his earring, only to find something to do with his hands.
He had to tell them about what happened earlier. He opened and closed his mouth. Did he? It's not like he'd found out some groundbreaking information about those monsters. But it's good to be honest… Why should he be? He didn't know these people. They didn't deserve to know anything. It was his business only. He flexed his hand, frowning.
Bryan felt eyes on him.
He looked up through his lashes to the rear-view mirror and met the rookie's gaze. His eyes quickly returned to the snowy road. Weird.
As they drove on silently, he could feel Officer Kennedy's eyes glancing at him sporadically. What was he suspicious of? Just because he didn't have a pretty face like Claire didn't mean he was any less peaceful or trustworthy. He huffed and looked through the decidedly clean window… oh, ya… there was that.
Okay, he definitely didn't need to know about that if he was already cautious of him. Maybe he would think he was lying about saying it was out of self defence, mistaking a glint in his eye for one of a ruthless killer rather than a fearful civilian. Hopefully the car ride wouldn't be too long. Wait, where were they going again? Shit, damn it, the stupid police station, right.
"Hey, hey, just a moment, I got a priority one here. I can't go urban exploring in a mutant-filled police station," Bryan piped up.
"A what?" Kennedy peered at the bag.
"I'm a medical courier. This is like a major vital organ. A foot, or nose, or, or arm … " He cringed.
"The only thing people around here would want that organ for is to eat," Claire said, not indelicately.
"There has to be survivors, it's a big city," the rookie reassured.
"Sure, ya, let's go with that. I still need you guys to drop me off at the hospital."
"I can do that. Do you know where it is?" Kennedy said.
"Yep, right here on the manifest." Bryan rooted around for the paper in his many pockets. He produced the manifest and skimmed over it, finding the address quickly.
"Army Street 46."
“Do you know vaguely where that is?” Claire asked. Bryan was quiet. “Do you?” She looked at Officer Kennedy. He was silent for a moment. Bryan groaned, running his hands down his face.
“This cancer patient is so fucking dead.”
“Hey now, there’ll be someone at the station who can point you in the general direction,” the rookie assured, and Claire nodded in agreement. His confidence surprisingly relieved some of Bryan’s nerves.
“My brother would know,” Claire added.
“Okay.” Bryan exhaled tiredly, nodding a bit to himself. Maybe everything would be fine? “Thanks,” he gave a weak smile. Kennedy looked back at him through the mirror once more.
“Trust me, I’ll keep you safe.” Bryan held his gaze. He was inclined to trust him instantly. He felt his face heating up. Something twisted in his stomach. He hadn’t felt this uneasy since he’d torn that woman’s arm off. He looked away, keeping his eyes trained on the passing trees. That certainly did not bode well.