Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The smell of the smoke hit Chris before he could see it, long drifting plumes of dark grey moving toward the sky. It faded out into a white mist before disappearing over the mountains surrounding the village, still snow peaked and looming.

It was a calming sight compared to the wood and stone around him, the ground littered with dark ash and debris. The explosion had done its job, taking down the Megamycete and any mold ridden roots it may have had. But it had also decimated what had once been a quiet and self-sufficient community, lives and homes pulled into oblivion in order to destroy what had once been its hope. Its salvation.

Not that there were many lives left. And those who were had surely no longer seen the mold as the savior they’d once worshipped. Even if they still prayed to Mother Miranda, begging for salvation; forgiveness from a goddess who had turned on them without warning.

For all the gods of the people are worthless idols, Chris thought bitterly. He wasn’t a religious man, hard to be after what he’d seen, but a childhood of stained wood pews and evening prayers was hard to shake. That small voice in his head always asking if perhaps this was his penance, to suffer for a sin that seemed to always be changing.

Chris took one last inhale of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground. He watched the orange embers fall atop the freshly fallen snow, the wind keeping the flame alive only a moment before extinguishing. Ash joining ash.

“And to dust we shall return," he said aloud, knowing there was no one around to hear it.

Metal creaked beneath Chris’ feet, and he stepped lightly as he continued. Beneath him lay a labyrinth of mechanical horrors now ablaze, fueled by the occasional coal deposit and whatever had been used to keep up the machines left after the death of their Lord.

Chris couldn’t help but smile. That was a fight he wished he’d seen, remembering how the ground shook as he called out to Ethan. How confident the man’s voice had been when he explained he’d taken care of the molded monstrosity. How Chris had felt just a bit of pride at the sight of shattered metal when he’d finally arrived above ground, Ethan already gone and ready for the next fight.

Always rushing in headfirst, Chris thought fondly. He kicked at a metal tool near his feet, enjoying the clang of it against various other pieces.

“Didn’t think you were the type to enjoy long walks.”

Chris turned, hand reaching for his pistol. But he didn’t need it since the man before him was only smiling, his own hands shoved deep in the pockets of a brown leather jacket, pulled tight and blocking out the early morning chill.

“Leon,” Chris said, his mood lightening instantly. He turned from the wreckage around him and moved forward. “What are you doing here?”

Leon shrugged, gaze drifting around before looking back at Chris. “Looking for you.”

Chris raised a brow. “In Romania?”

Leon gave a small smile, as if that part was a secret. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” he asked, changing the subject.

Chris allowed it, looking back at the fallout behind him. “I’m looking for something,” he said, and Leon’s expression turned curious. Chris motioned toward his attire before he could ask, knowing he wouldn’t have an answer Leon would like. “You look cold.”

“I’m fine,” Leon replied, even as his shoulders hunched forward against a gust of cold wind.

Chris smiled at the stubbornness. “Come on. There’s a place not far from here.”

Leon only nodded, and quickly moved to Chris’ side, following him quietly as they moved away from the solemn scene behind them.

When Chris had first returned to the village, only thirty six hours after the initial explosion, he’d stumbled upon a small cabin tucked away in what he thought was its own little world. It was shielded by walls of rock and surrounded with trees and winding foliage. A few feet from the front door, the small circle of land dropped down into a thin stream that curved its way between more stone and leaves before widening and disappearing.

It had been a bit breathtaking at the time, something so small and fragile untouched by the destruction around it. Chris had taken it as a sign, and quickly settled in.

The door creaked loudly when he pushed on it, and a bird flitted from a nearby tree as if disturbed. He gestured for Leon to step inside and closed the door soundly behind them. There was no lock, but so far nothing besides a passing fox had tried to get inside.

“You’ve been staying here?” Leon asked amidst the silence of the place. There were only two rooms, separated by a rather wide doorway. There had been a tattered curtain hung across it when Chris had arrived, but he’d torn it down as he had no real need for privacy.

A small wood stove sat in a corner of the first room, and Chris went to it. He knelt and grabbed the box of matches on the nearby windowsill. He struck one and dropped it into the stove, waiting until he could see the flames curling beneath the wooden logs.

Leon made an impressed sound as he moved himself to Chris’ side once more, eyes on the growing fire. “Guess you’re a proper boy scout now.”

Chris elbowed him lightly. “More like a survivalist. One of the first things I ever learned was how to start a fire.” And it was true. He’d been young at the time, barely able to remember, but it was still there. The faint memory of his parents sitting around a campfire and Chris looking up at them, feeling some kind of pride as the flames between them grew.

Leon considered this, watching the flames a few more moments. “I think I’d just use a flamethrower.”

Chris laughed quietly and looked at Leon. The sun was starting to come through the windows, bathing him in a soft, white glow. But when he met Chris’ gaze, those blue eyes were suddenly darker, hair lighter, shorter, and dark tendrils of mold crept under his skin and around his eyes.

Keep her safe.

Chris turned away, walking over to a wooden table he’d placed a few of his belongings on: A comms device, some extra bullets, and boxes of dried food that all tasted the same to him. In his coat pocket was a phone he never used, an older model that was easy to get rid of. The last person to call it was now dead in the ground, sacrificing himself all because Chris had made the wrong calls.

“Why are you really here, Leon?” he asked without turning around. He busied himself by removing the pistol from his hip and checking the rounds.

Chris could hear Leon take a few steps forward, but they weren’t enough to close the distance. Not entirely.

“I got a phone call from some friends of yours.”

The Hound Wolf squad. Of course.

They’d advised against Chris traveling back to the village on his own, offering to go with him when they realized this wasn’t something he would back down on. But he’d declined, knowing that having them there wouldn’t help him find what he was looking for. So they’d offered to cover for him, at the very least. Keep him in the BSAA’s good graces until he finished his mission. After discovering their new virus-variant soldiers, he hadn’t been keen on making them an enemy just yet.

“I’m doing my job,” Chris answered, unwilling to get into the specifics of why he needed to be here. Why he couldn’t leave. Not yet.

“On whose orders?” Leon asked, waiting for a reply but Chris only remained silent. “Look, they’re worried about you. Said you...haven’t been yourself lately.”

“You can check my psych reports, if you want,” Chris offered, keeping his tone casual and light. He knew the accusations would come soon enough.

“We all know those reports are bullshit,” Leon said, taking another step closer. Chris turned around but didn’t move, the wood of the table digging into his lower back. “Doesn’t mean we’re alright, though.”

Chris considered this. Considered lying, but knew better. Not with Leon. “When have we ever been alright?”

Leon hesitated, eyes moving from Chris’ face to the table and back. “Sintra. Right after the Plagas incident. BSAA was called in for cleanup and I was tired of drinking alone in my hotel. You and your team were at the bar, and you were trying to get one of them to dance with you.”

Chris dropped his gaze, barely remembering the memory. It didn’t feel like his own, and something dark tightened in his chest at the realization it had been one Leon seemed fond of. Especially considering everything he’d read in the Kennedy report.

“We were drinking,” he said finally, gloved hands now gripping the edge of the table.

Leon only nodded. “You were, but it was still nice. Seeing you open up like that. It was the first time I’d heard you laugh.”

Chris could only close his eyes, feeling the implication sink deep into his chest, gripping him like a vice. You’re not like that with me. “Leon--”

“I wish you would have called.”

Chris opened his eyes. He had known this was coming and wished he thought to come up with an excuse. Some lie to make it better than what it was.

“I won’t call you every time a situation escalates,” he said firmly, and knew he wouldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to at times. It was a line he’d drawn for himself, after the Baker incident. If Leon was going to worry about him, he would make sure he had as little to worry about as possible. In their line of work, distractions were deadly.

“But I want you to,” Leon argued, voice louder now. He was annoyed. “That was the whole point of this. To not shut each other out anymore. To be there for each other. You could have at least texted me? Left me a voicemail? Last I heard from you was 6 months ago.”

Chris only nodded and stored Leon’s words away with all the rest: All the people he’d let down, and the promises he’d broken. It was a growing hole in his chest where he kept them as a reminder, a form of penance that seemed to rattle in his lungs whenever he spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Leon looked like he wanted to say more, but whatever he saw in Chris’ face then deflated his anger. Now he just looked tired. “What are you even doing out here, anyway?”

Chris wasn’t sure how to answer. Leon had already asked him once. “I told you. I’m looking for something.”

“Then it’ll be faster with two people, right?” Leon said, his eyes soft and hopeful. His words offered as a lifeline for Chris to grab on to because he knew Chris wouldn’t ask for help otherwise.

But Chris refused to pull Leon down with him. “No.”

Leon’s expression shuttered, and Chris saw something in his eyes dull at the refusal. “Chris--”

“I can’t explain it,” Chris continued, unable to look at Leon as he spoke. “I can’t tell you what I’m looking for because I don’t even know what that thing is right now. But what I can tell you is that I need to be here, Leon. And I know you want to help me, but you can’t. Not this time.”

And that was the truth. He really didn’t know what he was looking for. Didn’t know why he was out here, kicking aside debris and walking up the mountainous terrain, hoping to find...something.

Leon’s expression was frustrated, eyes roaming Chris’ face when he finally looked up. “Look, Chris, I care about you. And I know this is hard, trust me, I know. But you have to talk to me. Otherwise, I’m just...”

Leon’s words trailed off, mouth parted as he searched for the words he couldn’t say.

Chris could hear them anyway.

Don’t push me away.

Chris thought back to the motel in Louisiana. How Leon had asked to be let in back then too. A soft plea to not be left alone, and Chris had done just that. He’d left Leon alone without considering how heavy his silence could be. How much it could hurt.

“Come here,” Chris said, making sure the words were as quiet and tender as he could make them. He hated seeing Leon hurt, and the aching need he felt to soothe him was something he couldn’t refuse.

Leon moved forward instantly, as if he’d been waiting for Chris to let him into his space. Chris took one of his hands and interlaced their fingers which seemed to quell some of the frustration on Leon’s face. He then lifted their joined hands and placed a soft kiss across Leon’s knuckles.

“I missed you,” Chris said, because there was nothing else he could say. Not when all other thoughts simply disappeared as Leon leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. The softest pressure that left Chris feeling more grounded than he had in a long time.

“I missed you too,” Leon answered, the breath of his words ghosting across Chris’ skin before being followed by a soft sigh.

Leon unwound their hands and raised his own to press chilled fingers against Chris’ cheek. Chris turned into it, and only hummed in satisfaction when he could feel Leon’s other hand move under his jacket and across his stomach. It moved slowly, tentative in a way, before moving over Chris’ hip and pushing at the hem of his shirt.

“Why didn’t you wear gloves?” Chris asked, a shiver running up his spine at the feel of cold fingers moving across his lower back. Leon’s hand continued on to press itself along his spine, a firm pressure that slowly warmed with stolen heat from Chris’ skin.

“Couldn’t find them,” Leon said and pressed a kiss to the corner of Chris’ mouth. His hand continued moving beneath Chris’ shirt, as if committing it all to memory by touch alone.

“That eager to see me, huh?” Chris teased, unable to hide the growing smile on his face.

“Yes,” Leon replied before kissing him properly.

Chris was more than willing to let Leon take the lead, obediently following the hand that tilted his chin as Leon pulled himself even closer. The wooden table shifted under their weight, skidding across the floor but with nowhere to go because of the wall on the other side.

Chris wondered if he’d end up with a bruise on his lower back as Leon continued to push forward, but found he didn’t really care when Leon’s hand left his face to travel down his chest, his stomach, before landing firmly on his clothed cock.

Chris groaned, hips pressing forward as Leon kissed underneath his jaw. He scraped his teeth against Chris’ throat before sinking them into the skin and biting hard.

“Leon,” Chris gasped, gloved hands gripping the back of Leon’s jacket as he pressed a soothing tongue against the bruising mark.

“Fucking turtleneck,” Leon only muttered as he tugged at the collar of Chris’ shirt.

“I’ll make sure to wear something more appropriate next time,” Chris chuckled but fell quiet as Leon began to unbutton his pants, zipper sounding obscenely loud in the quiet of the small home.

Chris’ head fell back, cursing as that same hand pressed against his half-hard cock again, squeezing firmly. The pressure was rough, bordering on unpleasant with the way the fabric of his underwear shifted across his skin. But it was drowned out by Leon lifting his head to kiss him again, a new desperateness to the act that left Chris’ knees weak.

Chris tried to return the feeling, a thrumming beneath his skin that itched for Leon to keep touching him, practically ached for it. Leon bit Chris’ bottom lip, earning a pleased groan in return, before pulling back and placing both hands under Chris’ shirt. He moved them upward, high enough to bunch the dark fabric around his wrists and gain access to Chris’ chest. His hands gripped the muscle there hard, grinding his hips forward.

“Christ, Chris,” Leon groaned, hiding his face in Chris’ shoulder as his own half-hard cock pressed against Chris’. “You’re like a wet dream come true.”

Chris huffed out a laugh and dropped his own hands to Leon’s ass. He shifted his legs further apart and pulled Leon forward, placing him perfectly between his thighs.

But then there was that trick of the light again: The hair in his peripherals darkening. The coat he had his hands in no longer brown but green and covered in black blood. The voice calling his name soft and broken. Dying.

Chris.

And there it was again. Chris’ thoughts falling back toward Ethan: Ethan smiling when Chris handed over the keys to his and Mia’s new home. Ethan looking wide eyed and pleased when Rose finally fell asleep in Chris’ arms. Ethan staring at Chris with horror and hurt in his eyes as Mia lay dying at his feet.

Ethan asking Chris, trusting him, to take care of Rose.

A firm hand on his cock pulled Chris from those thoughts, but the person pressed against him was still wrong. The voice. The hair. The coat beneath his now trembling hands. It was all wrong and Chris could feel his orgasm quickly approaching, the pleasure diluted by the guilt and panic at what was about to happen. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Ethan, wait--”

Everything stopped.

Chris opened his eyes, having closed them in fear, and was relieved to see only Leon standing before him now. Just a brown jacket wrinkling under his grip, not green, and bright blue eyes meeting his own. But those eyes seemed confused, darting across Chris’ face for a few, long moments before turning angry. Hurt.

“Who the hell is Ethan?”

Leon had taken a step back, but Chris’ hands had prevented him from moving too far. “Leon--”

“Who the fuck is Ethan, Chris,” Leon repeated. He held Chris’ gaze but pulled himself out of reach. Bracing for whatever Chris’ answer might be.

Chris let him go without protest, hands falling uselessly at his sides. There wasn’t much else he could do. “Ethan Winters and his wife were under my watch after the Baker incident. He died in the explosion that destroyed the Megamycete. He--”

“Did you fuck him?”

Chris swore his heart stopped in that moment, and briefly wondered if this was what Ethan had felt when Miranda tore his heart from his chest.

“Answer the damn question, Chris,” Leon implored when he remained silent. Chris felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the walls of the room were closing in on him. How could he fix this? He had to fix this.

“No,” was all he could finally say, but it wasn’t enough as Chris watched Leon’s hurt and anger fade into something he’d only ever seen directed at a handful of people. People who had taken Leon’s kindness and loyalty and shattered it like glass at his feet, never once looking back.

Betrayal in its most personal form.

“God, I don’t know if that’s better or worse,” Leon said eventually, running a hand over his face, across his eyes. Chris wondered if he might cry.

“Leon…”

Leon turned away, his back now to Chris. He moved toward the door, throwing it open before pausing in the threshold.

“I hope you find whatever the fuck you’re looking for.”

The final slam of the door echoed in the home and Chris felt his chest tighten. Felt his lungs not expand properly as he took in short, shallow breaths. Felt like someone had laid a large stone on top of his chest and refused to remove it.

He looked down, and the feeling was quickly replaced with a wave of self-disgust at the sight of his still hard cock on display. He quickly tucked himself away, and turned around to place both hands on the table behind him. He leaned forward, closing his eyes, and took in a slow, deep breath.

When he exhaled, it was with a fist slammed against the wood.

Chapter Text

Chris didn’t go after Leon.

Instead he sat down and ate some of his rations. Catalogued what he had left by expiration date. Triple checked his remaining ammunition.

An hour later with task completed, he sat staring at his hands with the occasional glance at the door. Chris had been prepared for the fight with Leon and assumed it would play out the way it always did: With both of them saying some things they didn’t really mean until one of them struck too close to the truth. Then they’d stop, adrenaline crashing and silence stretching between them as they worked out what the real problem was and began to solve it. They’d talk, maybe yell some more, and come to some sort of understanding. Always apologizing if something cut too deep or too soon.

It wasn’t particularly healthy, but it worked for them. They weren't...normal people. Never had been. They had decades of crap between them that even the most hardened therapist would have had a hard time swallowing.

But Leon had never just…walked away before.

Chris had tried a few times, when saying what was on his mind had felt too overwhelming, too close to real, but Leon hadn’t let him. He would always pull him back in and make Chris look him right in the eye.The Leon he knew never ran away from a fight, and Chris wasn’t even sure he knew how.

Except in Colorado, drowning himself in the bottom of a bottle...

The sun was low in the sky when Chris finally decided to go looking for Leon, a part of him hoping he was still around. A larger part of him afraid he'd disappeared again, and this time Chris wouldn’t be able to find him.

Outside the wind had picked up, blowing cold air in Chris’ face and making him shove his gloved hands deep into his pockets. It made him think of Leon’s gloveless hands followed by the urge to gather them up in his own and bring them to his lips, warming them with his own breath. It was a thought that left Chris sighing, breathe visible in the air.

It was moments like these when he truly felt his age. The growing want for stability and comfort. The idea of a place to call home that wasn’t dark and empty when he wasn’t there. Imagining lazy days spent reading or sleeping for more than six hours a night and experiencing all the other mundane things people like him never get to.

We’re not normal people.

Chris paused in his walk, looking down at the snow beneath his feet. He hadn’t been walking for long, but already he felt himself giving up. There was no sign that Leon had been there. No footsteps he could follow or voices to hear amongst the trees. Had he even been there at all? Or had he just been a guilt fueled delusion of Chris’ own creation?

He remembered the Winters’ home. Remembered watching Miranda talking to Ethan as she plated dinner, the real Mia locked in some cell miles away. Ethan had been smiling then.

No, Chris thought, forcing the memory away. Leon had been real. Had felt real when he’d pressed his cold fingers against Chris’ face and kissed him. The touch alone grounding him for the first time in what felt like years.

And it had been. Three long years of planning and self-isolation, yet nothing to show for it except a bombed-out village and more people dead.

A crow cawed overhead, and Chris looked up. It was easy to spot with its jet-black feathers standing out amongst the dead foliage and hazy whiteness of the sky. The crow appeared to be watching him, its black, beady eye keeping his gaze before leaving the tree it was in and flying across his path. It landed a few feet ahead of him, head bobbing momentarily before hopping off toward a wall of rocks. And then it disappeared, seemingly absorbed by the stone.

Chris wandered forward, curious, and found the disappearance had only been an illusion. There was a narrow opening in the rockside hidden from his previous view, and it was there the bird had disappeared. It was dark beyond the entrance, a heavy blackness that Chris couldn’t see into even as he stepped closer.

The wind picked up again, blowing at his back and whistling down the dark crevice. Something wasn’t right, and Chris looked over his shoulder expecting to see someone watching him. But there was no one, the mountain quiet and calm in a way that made his skin crawl.

Chris pulled the flashlight from his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It shone down the cramped tunnel, barely lighting the dark ahead.

He glanced back once more, listening to the quiet rustling of the trees. More silence followed, a stillness to his surroundings that didn’t feel natural. He turned back toward the crevice, weighing his options.

I’m still here for a reason.

Chris breathed in then out, slow and controlled like the woman from the psych department had shown him.

He was here for a reason.

He had to be.

The crevice gradually grew taller the further in Chris walked, eventually allowing him to stand upright and not crouched like he’d been when he first entered. The path was still narrow, however, so he walked slowly while keeping an eye on the occasional jutting rocks along the walls.

His eyes narrowed as he scanned the illuminated path of his flashlight, listening for anything that might be lurking up ahead of him. But there was only the sound of his own footsteps echoing off the stone intertwined with his own quiet breaths.

As he continued, he felt the ground beneath his feet begin to gradually shift downward. The passageway widened rapidly as well, and he tilted his flashlight up to observe the growing walls. They were composed of simple rock, rough and jagged, and wet with moisture.

Chris reached out a hand, feeling along the wall as he went. All too soon his hand was touching empty air and he stopped, catching himself just as his next step had found nowhere to land.

Chris tilted himself back, unbalanced, and turned his flashlight toward the ground. Before him was a now noticeable drop off that had been hidden in the overwhelming darkness. He shook his head, chastising himself for not keeping his eyes on the ground, before taking a step along the ledge of the drop. He pushed downward, testing, and found the ground was soft and loose.

It was hard to see what exactly was below, even with his flashlight, or how far the drop went. Swinging his flashlight side to side, he figured if the cavern went deep enough it might be worthwhile for the containment crew to investigate. The megamycete had been rooted so far underground for so long that he wasn’t convinced they’d gotten rid of all of it. Or if they ever would.

A crow appeared suddenly, cawing loudly as it flew past Chris and back the way he’d came. Startled, he turned and took a step back.

The world tilted violently, and Chris found himself falling as the edge of the cavern floor crumbled underneath his weight. He hit the wall of the ledge hard, head slamming against rock and dirt as he tumbled downward. His flashlight threw light in various directions as he fell, disorienting him until he came to an abrupt stop.

Chris stared into the darkness above him, waiting for the dizziness and adrenaline to pass. When it did, he took in a few measured breaths and noted the minor discomfort that followed. No ribs broken or fractured then, he gauged, that was good. When he rolled himself onto his side, pain shot up his right shoulder. It had taken the brunt of the fall when he’d finally hit the ground.

Eventually, he was able to sit upright. He tested the mobility of his left arm and then his right. The right shoulder still ached, but it wasn’t dislocated or broken. Chris wiped a hand across his face, head aching, and felt something wet on his fingers. In the soft glow of the flashlight somewhere nearby, he could make out dark smudges of blood on his hand.

Chris wasn’t sure if he was concussed, but his head did hurt and there was notable bleeding. He presumed he’d more than likely need stitches.

Forcing himself to stand, Chris took a step toward the flashlight only to nearly collapse as his left leg cramped up with sharp, stinging pain. He let it fade to something manageable before forcing himself to try again.

When he finally picked up the flashlight, he was relieved to see it had escaped with only a few notable scratches on the lens. Without it, he’d have been left in complete darkness.

Chris pointed the flashlight upward, and noticed the ledge he’d fallen down was actually quite tall but seemed to curve gradually downward. This had actually eased his descent, but there was no obvious way to get back to the top. Though it hadn’t felt like it on the way down, the rocky ledge was too smooth to climb.

“Dammit,” he cursed aloud before breaking into a cough. He could feel something like dust coating his tongue and he grimaced. Hopefully whatever was down here wasn’t too dangerous to breathe in. Not that anything could be much worse than the mold he’d been exposed to up until now.

A flare of fear blossomed in Chris’ chest at the thought, but he shoved it quickly away. Right now there were more pressing worries to be had, like the state of his injuries and how the hell he was going to get out of…wherever he was.

Using the flashlight, he did a quick check for any other obvious injuries. It looked like his coat had taken the brunt of the superficial damage, torn in multiple places while protecting his arms and back from the assumed edges of rocks and roots.

He shrugged the coat off and crouched down before ripping the lining on the inside. He balled it up and pressed it against what he assumed was the center of the injury. He wouldn’t be able to see it without a mirror, but from the way blood soaked readily into the fabric he could assume it wasn’t something to ignore.

He reached inside his jacket pocket, feeling the rough edges of his phone, and knew immediately that it was a lost cause. In his palm the screen remained pitch black, and the glass had cracked like a spider’s web from the middle out. Chris ran his thumb over the broken glass, sighing, before dropping it to the ground.

He stood back up, moving the majority of his weight onto his uninjured leg, and moved his flashlight left then right. The cavern around him was wide, and he couldn’t see where it seemed to start or end. Not knowing what else to do, Chris decided to go left.

He focused his flashlight on the ground as he walked, now knowing better, and cast a quick glance at the looming walls on either side of him. If he could find roots, there would be water. And if there was water, it had to come from somewhere. And that somewhere was most likely above ground.

After a few minutes of walking, Chris wondered what he should do if he couldn’t find an exit. What if his flashlight died? There was no use wandering around in the dark. Would somebody come? He figured eventually someone would find him, but he didn’t like his odds of that later rather than sooner. Leon had been the last person to see him, but he doubted he’d come looking anytime soon.

The Hound Wolf Squad would know something was wrong eventually. He radioed them twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening, and he knew a missed check-in would have them eager to find out why. Chris had been reluctant to agree to the daily check-ins, finding them tedious and unnecessary, but now he could understand why they‘d bullied him into the habit.

Having no clue what time it was but knowing the sun had been low in the sky when he’d gone looking for Leon, Chris concluded it must be close to sunset. Sunset had recently been around eighteen hundred the past few days, and he typically radioed the squad just before. That meant, hopefully, someone would realize in the next hour or so that he hadn’t checked in.

Chris placed his hand over his mouth, overcome by a persistent cough that seemed to be growing the farther he walked. Then, something caught against the bottom of his boot. He stepped back and moved his flashlight toward his feet, finding a large, dark root protruding through the dirt. He crouched down and ran a gentle hand across it. It was soft to the touch, and definitely alive.

Chris walked further into the darkness, following the root as best he could as it dipped back below the earth before popping back up again. As he did, he found the urge to cough coming on much more frequently and leaving him unable to clear the thick, uncomfortable sensation of something stuck at the back of his throat. He lifted the collar of his shirt to cover his nose and mouth but knew it would only do so much. Not when he could now see the fine particles floating in the air around him, suspended like freshly fallen snow in the glow of his flashlight.

Chris considered turning around but knew doing so meant giving up on the only plan he had. He could always hunker down and wait for some form of rescue, but the thought didn’t sit right with him. He’d always been a man of action and preferred to do something if he could rather than wait around for any help that may or may not arrive.

However the force of each new cough seemed to make the wound on Chris’ forehead ache that much more, his head feeling as though it was held in a gradually tightening vice. He reached out a hand, leaning heavily against the cavern wall to catch his breath. After a few moments, he dropped the shirt from his face, breathing in and out as deeply as he could. But each exhale was immediately followed by a cough, his chest now tight with convulsions.

Chris dropped to the ground, unable to keep himself upright as the coughing continued. With his back to the wall, he closed his eyes in an attempt to relax his muscles and maybe lessen the tightness in his chest. But his body still felt heavy, and just opening his eyes again was a feat in and of itself. Something was very wrong, but he couldn’t think clearly past the growing pain in his head and the jagged feeling in his throat as he began coughing again.

Chris lifted the flashlight from his lap and shone it along the root he’d been following. Not far ahead the root traveled upward and toward the ceiling. A mass of similar roots hung overheard, dark and black and growing, spreading outward as far as Chris could see. Small flecks of debris fell from the ceiling, falling gently and slowly to the cavern floor. .

Shit.

Chris tried to stand, but his legs gave out almost instantly. He fell forward, hitting the ground hard as his arms felt too heavy to catch himself. With the side of his face pressed roughly against the ground, he tried to push himself back up, but he couldn’t. His chest felt tight, tighter than he thought possible, and as he tried to take in a breath he realized he couldn’t. Panic filled his mind and that earlier bloom of fear reappeared, crashing over him in unrelenting waves. He tried to lift his head, but even if he could, what then? There was no one there. No one would hear him. No one would save him.

As Chris struggled to get oxygen to his lungs, he noticed his vision begin to blur. No, he thought weakly, gaze moving uselessly around the empty cavern. Not like this.

A strangled gasp escaped his mouth as he tried to speak, images of the Bakers, of his men, of Ethan and Mia and Rose swarming his mind. He felt his consciousness fading, darkness and fear consuming him completely, but he could still hear something. It sounded far away, but he could feel it getting closer. A sharp, high-pitched sound that could have been mistaken for laughter.

You have to protect her.

It almost sounded like a little girl.