SAVEGUARD ⟼ leon s. kennedy

vii. come back

He tries the infirmary's door first, but they won't budge, even when I try to help him, both of us trying to push it open with our weight.

"Let's try the staff's quarters," he says quietly. "I'll go in first. Keep watch."

I nod and feel a cold sweat forming against my forehead. The idea of standing here, in this opening, faced by multiple corridors, with just one source of light, makes my stomach turn in knots.

He sees my face and adds, "I won't be long."

Leon opens the door slowly, and walks in, and the doors swing closed behind him. Now, it really is just me and my little flashlight. I can hear my pulse crunching in my ears, almost like I have sand in my head.

I check my ammo, make sure the magazine is full. I wonder how many boxes of ammunition Leon has, because another run-in with those things will mean I won't have much left.

The thought strikes my chest and I swallow, leaning back against the wall. Not having enough bullets to defend the two of us would mean...

No.

I force my brain to shut up, and point my light at each corridor. Each one looks empty. Terrifyingly dark. But empty.

A few minutes pass, and my heart rate is skyrocketing. What's taking Leon so long?

What if he's in danger?

I consider calling out to him, but decide that that's not a very smart move: I would be giving away my position to anything lurking in the shadows. I shudder at the thought of being watched without my knowledge. Turning quickly so that I only have half my back to the corridors, I flash the light inside the staff's quarters, hoping to catch a glimpse of Leon, maybe see a thumbs up, a sign that all is okay.

But I don't.

I turn back and jump at the sound of a loud metal creak, one of the loudest I've heard since coming aboard. It sounds like the ship is wailing, moaning, begging to have my attention. Something scrapes against a piece of metal, and then there's quiet for a few seconds, before the usual cacophony of sounds starts again, almost like it's on loop.

I aim my light into the middle corridor, and then just as I'm about to check the left corridor, my light goes out.

The air gets stuck somewhere between my chest and my throat. I can't see anything, the darkness is somehow even heavier now. Slamming the butt of the light against my palm, I curse as I watch it flicker twice, before going out.

"Leon," I say, but my voice is barely audible to my own ears.

"Leon?" I repeat, and grope around the dark, trying to find the cabin door to the staff's quarters.

I get no reply, no indication that's he's close, and tears start to swim in my eyes. The noises around me seem amplified, and my chest rattles as I try to keep the panic in my stomach from doubling.

"Leon!" I shout, before I stumble, my hand breaking through a cabin door. But I can't see his light, hear his footsteps.

Small cries escape my lips, and I try his name again, but he's nowhere near me. I feel around with my palms and steady myself against a wall, and focus on my breathing for a second.

This isn't the time to have another panic attack. Please. Not now.

Then I hear it: the shuffling of footsteps.

Relief floods over me, and I call his name again. "I'm here," I say.

But his voice does not come.

A tantalising laugh comes from somewhere deep inside the cabin I've just stumbled into, high-pitched and distorted. A laugh that is not coming from a regular human voice box. I hear it again and realise, with gooseflesh raised all over my skin, that it's not a real laugh at all; more like a cruel impression of something initiating a hyena, something imitating a child's laugh.

Something.

I sink down the wall, gasping for air as quietly as possible. I close my eyes tight, and try to think. My fear levels are spiking, my heart pounding loudly against my rib cage, the tears slipping down my cheeks, a steady stream. I want to call out for Leon again, I need to see his face, feel the safety he provides me with when I walk close to him.

There's not much I can do, not with the darkness so claustrophobically wrapped around the room. I am not meant to survive this. The only thing I can do is keep my gun pressed to my chest, and listen, listen, listen.

Wait. Wait for whatever it is to find me.