Chapter Text
It's late for Claire when she gets the call. She cracks an eye open, glancing at the red 9:3-something pm on her alarm clock as she reaches for her phone on the nightstand. She hopes it's not what she now expects it to be, that it's a change in her new normal of death, destruction, and misery. It could be a check-in from another time zone and forgetting it's late in the States; there's someone safe on the other line with good news.
These hopes are dashed as soon as she reads the glowing screen's caller ID, Tyler P. Terrasave. Claire sighs, sitting up and mentally preparing herself as she answers the call, “Hey Ty, what’s happened?”
His reply is curt, “An outbreak fucking stateside.” Claire grimaces as she moves to the edge feeling pain raidtate from her shoulder, as she hears the news. “ Looks to be a T-strain based on the few things we’ve glimpsed. We’re ready to deploy the best we have from our Midwest location, but it could be a bit since we’re stretched thin. We’ve reached out to our Canadian branch as well.”
She notes the anger in it and files it away for later. Her best guess is that it’s based on budget constraints and lack of grants that have been given for any bio-terrorism agencies in the United States to be ready for an attack in North America. She knows it’s going to be a long week of reviewing press releases, reports, and tight management on her and Tyler’s part. She feels tired already and hopes it doesn’t sound like it when her mouth catches up with her mind.
“Okay. Give me the details. Is BSAA or the army already there? Is there a quarantine? Where do I need to be?”
Getting out of bed, she moves to the closet and puts the call on speaker. Pulling out her go bag from its designated shelf and checking its contents of clothes, med kit, and her revolver. Calling for anyone nearby to attack was a procedure, both a call to go in to help with an evacuation of families or to distribute aid. There’s a pause on the other line before she hears from Tyler again, a cautious, “It’s…It’s Wrenwood.”
This stops Claire, and her heart drops to her stomach. After 1998, Wrenwood had become known as a city for the displaced Racoon City Survivors. For those who didn’t flee to other parts of the country, it became the place where survivors were accepted and found community both in themselves and in Wrenwood's open arms. It had grown significantly in 28 years, both in population and in economic importance, to replace Racoon after its own outbreak.
She wasn’t technically on the list of survivors. Claire’s experience and story were a bit of an open secret to anyone in her life. During her years in Terrasave, she has taken a few days off and flown to the big milestone memorial services in Wrenwood for the Racoon City incident. She and her family weren’t the only ones who lived through this, and she found comfort in being there with others who had.
She glanced up at the full-length mirror at the end of the closet. While her ratty t-shirt covered a portion of the bruising, the black webbed patches still showed as a sleeve on her right arm, going up to her neck, wrapping around it as if it had her in its grip, like it was ready to strangle her in her sleep.
This was something that was leaving bodies behind of survivors, which started there as well, another blow to the city. For all the survivors there who haven’t yet been dealing with something growing in them, now seeing that their home was under attack again. She went back to checking her bag, ensuring ammo and her holster were where she remembered them.
“That's nowhere near me, Ty, that’s 5 hours minimum of travel, and that’s pushing it.”
“Claire”, Tyler said as patiently as he could, some frustration still lacing his words, “I am calling to let you know rather than hearing from the news later today, and hopefully get you a head start. They’ve stopped all air travel, and assuming the worst, they’ll have blockades in place soon. We don’t know anything other than it’s happening. B.S.A.A has been sent, they aren’t saying shit. The Midwest office is pushing for more details, but we haven’t heard back. We’re trying to get more sources from socials and reports, but they’re all being deleted or removed.”
Her eyebrows raise at that. “That quickly?”
“Which is why I am calling you. I can handle the slog we’re about to enter for a bit. We both know the BSAA has been shifty for a while, and our small Midwest office is tied up with the dispensing of aid. I know you have…connections.”
She glanced at the mirror again. She saw her grey streaks in her braided auburn hair, her gaze filled with worry as she considered her next move. Connections, yes. Contactable, less so. An on-the-run and stressed brother didn’t have a reliable phone number. Her partner, being sent wherever was required, often had to fall off her radar for missions. Neither would really be able to get the information she wanted in time. Their potential lectures about risking her safety would be lovely to hear later. “Rules for thee and not for me” mentality they both had sometimes was grating.
“Alright. I’ll see what I can do and keep you posted. Do you know what district?”
“From what I’ve gathered, it seems to be a historic one.”
She breathes a sigh of relief, historic, not industrial. Though she had a hunch Leon would see it eventually or find his way over. “Thanks, I should be there later this morning.”
She ended the call and got to work. Pulling on yesterday's jeans and a black turtle neck. Tossing a few extra turtle necks in her closet in her go bag, then holstering her revolver. Close relations knew her new love of turtle necks was not a midlife crisis. Just easier to keep the bruising under wraps than to go through explaining it to every person she meets.
She grabbed her jacket, keys, and sped down the apartment stairs. She could try making one call to get there sooner; the chances were slim, especially since she wasn't DSO herself. The lady was a miracle worker on all accounts and made things happen, in the chances it helped save others. She dialed, and as the phone rang, she kept flying down the flights. The other line picked up as she was close to the bottom. “Birkins speaking.”
Claire stopped at the last flight of the steps, confused, “Sherry? Where’s Hunnigan?”
“C-Claire?” Clearly, Sherry had not taken a look at the caller ID, or perhaps Hunnigan had put something else on the name. The lady had her own sense of humor. “Um...Parental leave. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything's fine.” Claire weighed her options. Sherry could keep a lid on secrets as she had gotten older. However, she could still be a tattletale if it came to safety concerns. “I was hoping for a favor for air travel to LA. I’ve heard that a shutdown is in the works.” Driving and not arousing suspicion seemed to be her option. “Any chance you can get them to wait?” she joked.
“I’m afraid not, sorry Claire.” Sherry sounded sympathetic and a little hesitant. “I don’t remember you going to LA, soon…”
Claire supplied the fib easily, “Oh, it’s just a little work conference they asked me to join at the last minute. I was hoping to fly in for Saturday and Sunday, so I could relax a bit. Guess it just isn’t in the cards.” It wasn’t an outright lie. Claire had been asked, and she had declined, citing paperwork piling up as she kept going to the other conferences they had.
Claire hesitated, “Is everything okay for you guys?”
Hunnigan was never one to say where or what Leon was doing. The couple of times she called to put important events on Leon’s calendar while he was on missions, Hunnigan was a professional and always one to emphasize his status if she asked. Clarie now wondered if she had become the nagging wife she had long feared. She made a mental note to send the woman something for her new child and a bit extra if the calendar calls were a bit much.
Leon himself kept most of his work locked up tight before heading out, keeping personal contacts to zero if he could. At least he made sure she knew where. It was a contentious point in their relationship. He’d been conditioned to keep everything on a need-to-know basis.
He had argued that the less she knew, the safer she would be. Claire had quickly put her foot down on this front; even while her job was more public and a little less risk-averse, she always told him where and asked for the same. She promised not to come even if she heard anything serious unless he asked. Leon had taken a moment and agreed, then asked if it was exclusively for work trips or if he could ask in the bedroom too. Laughing as she smacked his arm with an amused glare.
This mission was an exception to that rule, letting her in on what he was working on. Both had seen the bodies and the connection to Racoon City. Seeing the spots growing on their bodies and getting Sherry’s call of her own, appearing.
“Yes. We’re doing fine.” Sherry said. “Nothing to report on our end. Still, people are dying from…whatever this is.”
Sherry sounded disappointed in Claire’s ear, and she was hit with a bit of guilt for lying about her ask. “I’m sorry, it’s nothing new yet, Sherry. There’s got to be something out there eventually.”
“I know, Claire. Just frustrating with the new bodies and Leon’s progression. I just want to find it in time.”
Claire nodded to no one and leaned on the wall of the stairwell. “I know. You both are giving it your all, just be patient. I’ll let you get back to work, okay? You both don’t stay up too late.”
This got a small laugh from Sherry, both knowing full well they didn’t get to choose their hours. “Sure thing, I’ll keep an eye on it.”
It made Claire crack a smile. “Good night, Sher. Love you.”
“Night and love you too.”
Clair ended the call and took a moment to collect herself. It felt unfair in her mind for Sherry to be included in this horrible affliction. She had some antibodies, and while they slowed the thing down, it didn’t stop it.
Leon and Claire didn’t and dealt with horrible monstrosities, gnashing their teeth, swiping at them, throwing them against walls, puking on them with whatever the hell it was, and wading through sewers as a cherry on top. Sherry ran through some of it; her experience wasn't physically as bad as what they dealt with. Why was it suddenly appearing and going after them all now?
Why was there an outbreak in the city next door to the one that was ravaged 28 years ago?
Pushing herself off the wall, puzzling over the deaths and the outbreak, she walked out to the covered garage and attached her bag in place. She popped her helmet on, started her bike's engine, and pulled on her gloves. It was an estimated ten-hour drive ahead of her. Wanting answers, she had a feeling she’d get there sooner.
The speeding tickets would be well worth it.