A Sickly Sweet Reverie (Leon Kennedy X OC) [BOOK 3]

Chapter 27: Iron(s) Grip

I've never known a BSAA agent to wear the color of blood. That hue was reserved for the worst of the worst, and it proved to be a prominent color for the woman in the cockpit.

Ada Wong was seated in the helicopter hovering over us, her unreadable gaze glued to Leon and I. Within moments her gaze strayed, brown eyes searching the flames behind us.

"What is she...doing here?" I rasped, letting Leon lift me into a sitting position. Each gulp of air felt like I was swallowing shards of glass, and my brain felt like someone had thrown it into a washing machine set to 'bulky.'

"Saving our asses," Leon answered, slipping off the hood and scooping me into his arms. The words punched through the haze surrounding my brain and weaved through my mind.

"Great," I muttered, unable to stop my head from leaning into Leon's chest. I could feel the deep bruises already blooming along my back. Leon either didn't hear my comment, or chose to ignore it, as he turned, giving me a wider view of the street.

The explosion had drawn a crowd of a dozen infected, their silhouettes a dark smear against the bushels of flames peppering the tarmac. The zombies staggered forward, their arms outstretched as they lumbered onward. Ada tilted the chopper, taking up a higher position as she brought the zombies into her sights and fired. The high caliber bullets ripped them apart, mowing through the bodies and creating a downpour of flesh, limbs, and bits of tarmac.

She was saving us. Well, Leon perhaps. As she's shown in the past, she's more than okay with me dying a painful death. I couldn't even summon the strength to scowl at the helicopter, a gesture she surely wouldn't see anyway.

"Helena, come on," Leon called as he moved toward an alley on the right. I focused on the headache pulsing behind my temples as we moved, my fingers curling into a fist in my lap.

Leon held me tight as he ducked beneath obstacles and climbed short inclines, his progress slow and careful. The shots from the helicopter were a constant ringing in my head that eddied with Leon's words from earlier.

And you're still going to protect this woman?

I am.

I bit into my bottom lip. He protects her, and she returns the favor. And here he is lugging my sorry ass down the alley while Ada has his back. Bitch. It should be me supporting him at a time like this, not the sack of potatoes with a broken stitch.

"Here, put her down here," Helena said, her voice echoing down the alley. Leon ducked under something, and I gathered the strength to open my eyes and turn my head.

We'd traveled through a wrecked building and came out in a back alley where a BSAA humvee was parked, the doors left ajar. Leon moved, carefully placing me in the back seat and leaning my head into the headrest before moving to the trunk. I sucked in a deep breath, and the tang of blood and rot tickled at my nose, coaxing me to look toward the front seat.

A BSAA member was in the front passenger seat, head pressed into the dashboard with his hands dangling at his sides. Dark blood pooled on the dash, creating a slow drip into his lap.

"Here. Sit up," Leon said, appearing at the open door with a small dark red pack in his hands. He laid it in my lap, unzipping it to reveal the medical supplies inside, standard issue for all BSAA field vehicles. He reached for a syringe and the small vial of morphine.

"Just 1mg," I said, looking at him through hooded eyes.

"What? No. The standard dosage is 4." He said, shaking his head like I was batshit crazy.

"It will make me drowsy. Give me 1.I'll make do." I said again, my throat painfully dry.

"You are not–"