Chapter 12: Shot in the Dark

Rick quickly swept the entirety of the first floor of the boiler room. To his surprise, there was lots of stuff, and he wondered how everything had gotten there because it made absolutely no sense.

Getting up the ladder, he saw Claire having a discussion with the kid. From the smile and expression on the girl’s face, it seemed to him Claire had worked her natural charm.

‘Extrovert, huh,’ he noted to himself..

“Hey, Rick!” Claire called out to him when she caught him in the corner of her eye. “This is Sherry.” She pointed with her thumb at the blonde teen, who stood a step behind and waved at him.

His greeting was a polite “Nice to meet you,” accompanied by a small nod of acknowledgement.

Claire gasped exaggeratedly, confusing him. “You’re polite! I didn’t think that was possible!”

Rick didn’t take the bait and instead chose to turn the tables on her. He arched one eyebrow questioningly. “Why wouldn’t I be polite? I may not have been raised by good people, but I have manners.”

This time his partner’s gasp was genuine. Her mouth opened comically wide in both shock and dismay. “You put a gun in my face when we met!”

Feeling like messing with her more, he poured fuel on the fire that was Claire Redfield. “I distinctly remember you putting your face in front of my gun while I was aiming.”

“That is not what happened!”

He chose to ignore her protest, walked to Sherry, and offered her his hand for a handshake. She didn’t understand at first but quickly grabbed it and shook.

“Don’t pay attention to her, she’s hyperactive.”

Claire literally kicked his ass for that comment. “You jerk!”

Acting as if he hadn’t felt it, he released Sherry’s hand. “She’s violent too,” he added with the kind of nod a wise man would give when stating the obvious.

She kicked him again. “That’s payback for shoving me earlier!”

“See? Point proven.” Rick turned to face Claire. “I saved your life by doing so. Again!”

She had no retort to that because it was the truth. Rick had saved her more times than she had bothered to count. Having lost the exchange, she threw her arms up in the air and roared her frustration.

“She’s also the comic relief,” Rick added, and this time Sherry chuckled in amusement at their antics.

Claire’s eyes narrowed dangerously. One more comment, one more diss from her friend, and she would turn violent. She knew it. He knew it, and that was why they decided to end the talk without consulting each other. Unfortunately for them, they were pulled into a more awkward one by none other than Sherry.

“Are you girlfriend and boyfriend?”

Claire choked on her own spit. The question sent a jolt through her, absurd and utterly disorienting. Dating Rick? The guy was a survival algorithm dressed like a bozo. Pragmatic to a fault, emotionally detached, and capable of a cold ruthlessness that had kept them alive the night so far. He operated on logic. Empathy? She wasn’t even sure he knew the word. He was the last person she could ever picture in such a context.

And, a traitorous part of her mind appended, he was kind of cute.

Rick didn’t have an outward reaction. His composure remained absolute. He turned to Sherry, his face a neutral mask that gave no hint of surprise, amusement, or discomfort. Where Claire’s response had been a tempest of visible shock, his was a still pond. His voice, when he answered, was as even and detached as if she’d asked about the weather.

“She’s a girl, and the friend part is still debatable, but yes. Not the way you think, though.”

The flat disinterest in his voice grated on Claire’s nerves like a physical rasp. It wasn't that she wanted to be associated with him that way, the very idea was still ridiculous, but his tone made it sound like the possibility had never once, even as a fleeting, abstract notion, crossed his mind. It carried the clear, dismissive implication that he didn't find her attractive in the slightest. His dismissal felt absolute, as if her presence registered only in terms of utility. It was insulting, and the heat of that unintended slight burned brighter than she wanted to admit.

“Oh, I see. But you seem to get along so well.”

A snort escaped Rick. “We keep starting fights.”

Claire pushed him forward from behind. “There is no ‘we.’ You do, by being an insensitive jerk! Now let’s move on. We need to get out of here.”

Rick gave Sherry a knowing and amused look. One which meant ‘See? Told you so.’ It made her giggle, and she fell into step between them.

“That’s St. Cloud Academy uniform you’re wearing,” he started a conversation with Sherry. Not because he wanted to know her better, but because he wanted more information about her situation. A lone kid in the boiler room of a police station infested by zombies? Suspicious, in his opinion.

“It is,” she answered without much enthusiasm, as if she didn’t like it.

Claire inserted herself seamlessly into the conversation. “Is it a good school?”

“The best private school around,” Rick said, looking forward, his mind racing. “Expensive, but the price is worth the education. It’s also on the other side of the city.”

His partner’s head snapped to the side to look at him. Her eyes tried to discern what he was getting at here. It wasn’t an innocent comment, that much she knew. He was fishing for information from Sherry, and she wasn’t sure she liked it because it sounded like an accusation. Relief took her over with his next words.

“So, good job surviving and reaching here. It wasn’t easy, I’m sure.”

Sherry fell silent, her head tilting down. “It wasn’t, no.”

Rick put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. The sudden support made her look up.

“We’ll get you through it, don’t worry. You’re not alone anymore.”

Claire nearly gawked at what she was seeing. Rick was being sympathetic and supportive. Most of all he was being kind. Explicitly. So far, his only display of kindness was risking his life and getting hit to protect her. Never before had she heard him say a soft word of care. The rare times he asked her how she was doing it was to get a report of her situation, if she was hurt. Physically, not emotionally.

For a moment she believed Rick was playing Sherry but the absolute confidence and care in his smooth voice sounded genuine.

‘Perhaps it is,’ she thought.

A smile returned to Sherry’s face, albeit small. “Thank you.”

Rick nodded in acknowledgement. “If the worst comes to pass, use Claire as a shield. She won’t be missed.”

“You jerk!”

His little joke lifted the mood, making Sherry giggle again while there was no heat in Claire’s exclamation. There was a frown on her face, but the turned-up corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

They arrived in a control room, and Rick immediately went to the console. Above it, beyond the window, was a moving bridge that needed to be shifted to the right to open their way.

“See? I told you he wasn’t that bad,” Claire whispered to Sherry. “He just looks… ridiculous. And scary. But it’s just his appearance.”

The schoolgirl nodded in agreement. “He isn’t a jerk.”

Claire huffed in denial. “Give it some time. You’ll see.”

Once they could go through, they did and arrived in a small room with a locker. Inside was another R.P.D. pouch and a grenade.

“My god, why the hell is there a grenade in here?” Claire wondered aloud as Rick attached the new pouch to her back, too.

He replied while doing so. “I thought the same thing. Down there I found another one, four herbs, and two boxes of 9mm.” Putting the final pouch in place, he pulled out a small knife in its holster and gave it to Sherry. “In case you’re in trouble. Or, more probably, because you need to open something.”

He crouched down and tied it around her right leg, just above the ankle. Noticing her socks were, in fact, knee socks, he pulled both up to hide the weapon.

“It’s cold and raining outside, so it’s important you cover yourself. Also, if someone attacks you, they won’t be aware you’re armed. It’s a bit of an ace up your sleeve. Or knee socks. Using it is easy. Just stick them with the pointy end.”

Claire observed calmly from the side. Once again, Rick’s sudden caring behavior took her for a spin. He certainly hadn’t done that for her when they met.

‘Perhaps… He sees his younger self in Sherry?’

Knowing she wouldn’t get an answer to that question now, Claire put it at the back of her mind. In any case, she thought what he did was a good thing. Sherry wouldn’t be defenseless anymore, and that increased her odds of surviving should she get separated from them.

After Sherry thanked Rick, he stood up and walked to the other side of the U-shaped room. Another corridor awaited them there. Looking up, he saw a covered manhole.

“You think we’ll end up outside?” Claire asked by his side.

He took a few seconds to answer her, thinking of the map of the precinct, its surroundings, and the path they had taken. “No. I think… we’ll end up in the garage or right outside the precinct. I’ll go first.”

She gave him a nod and put a reassuring hand on Sherry’s shoulder. They both watched as Rick climbed the ladder and opened the manhole slightly to look around. Seeing the coast clear, he pushed it away completely without making much noise.

“It’s the garage,” he whispered to Claire before exiting.

She went first, Sherry following close behind, and found Rick already scanning their surroundings, gun in hand and ready to deal with any nasty surprises. The air was thick with the smell of damp concrete and stale oil. Flickering fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow over the vast space, illuminating pillars stained with water and a few abandoned police cruisers sitting silently on the flat, gray expanse.

At the far end, the huge rolling shutter of the vehicle exit was a solid wall of corrugated metal, sealing them in. The only sound was the muted, rhythmic patter of rain against the other side of that door.

Claire grabbed the schoolgirl's hand with her left and moved forward toward that closed gate. Through the narrow gap at its base, she could barely see the wet, dark street beyond.

Without hesitation, Claire crouched down, gripped the cold metal lip of the shutter, and strained to lift it. It didn't budge an inch, as solid as the concrete floor itself. Rick moved beside her without a word. He planted his feet, took a firm hold, and with a sharp grunt of effort, began to heave the massive door upward. Metal groaned in protest, but it began to rise.

The sudden, explosive crash of a door bursting in from their right shattered his concentration. The heavy gate slipped from his grip and slammed down with a final, metallic clang. He didn't waste a second, already twisting toward the threat as he stood, his hand a blur moving toward the gun at his hip.

The gunshot was a flat, deafening crack. The bullet struck his left upper chest with the force of a sledgehammer. It wrenched his upper body backward, twisting his torso violently. His legs were unprepared for the sudden rotation and tangled beneath him. His balance gone, he pitched forward and fell, his body meeting the concrete face-first with a heavy, final thud.

He didn’t hear Sherry’s high pitched scream of horror and panic, nor Claire’s shout of anger and outrage. His mind simply went blank. That was until he recognized a voice he hated before he knew no more.

“That’s what vermin like him deserve. Should have died next to a back alley dumpster years ago.”

Claire stood shielding Sherry from the obese man in gray pants and a cardigan, his revolver aimed at her. She was more than cautious. She had every reason to be. The man had just shot Rick, perhaps killed him, and looked out of his wits with rage. One false move, one wrong word, and she didn’t doubt she’d be lying on the ground next.

“On the ground. Now.”

Slowly, Claire bent her knees and lowered herself onto the cold, filthy concrete, hands raised in surrender. Her eyes never left the gun barrel pointed at her.

The man adjusted his aim to keep her in his sights. “Good.” He looked at Sherry. “Brave little girl, leaving your house in the middle of all this, Sherry. Now,” he tossed a pair of handcuffs at her feet, “tie her up.”

The schoolgirl shook like a leaf, terrified beyond belief, but she moved. Slowly she crouched to pick up the cuffs, trying her best to ignore the dark red blood seeping across the ground. Rick’s blood.

With trembling hands, Sherry moved behind Claire and fastened one cuff around her wrist. As she reached for the other, the man barked a command.

“Behind her back. Hurry up!”

Following his instructions, she pulled Claire’s arms back and locked the other cuff. She hoped it would all stop. That everything would be alright. That she and Claire would survive, and that Rick was still alive.

Claire’s angry voice somehow grounded her. “What’s this all about?”

Now that she was tied, the man seemed to calm drastically. His body relaxed and he lowered the gun. “Child endangerment, for starters.”

Claire couldn’t believe the shift in his tone. It was nonchalant, assured, low, as if he hadn’t just shot someone in cold blood but was discussing the weather. She watched him walk to the ticket machine near the gate and feed it a card, which prompted the shutter to rise.

“Sherry, come here.”

“What are you going to—”

The man struck Claire in the jaw with the gun’s butt, knocking her to the ground with a busted lip. “None of your fucking business.”

Seeing Sherry frozen in place, he crouched, grabbed Claire by her ponytail, and pressed the revolver under her chin.

“What’s your name, huh? Come on! What’s your fucking name? Sherry, what’s—”

“Claire!” she shouted through gritted teeth, trying to twist away from the barrel.

“Sherry,” he called sweetly to the schoolgirl. “You come with me now.” Then his tone shifted into something unhinged and threatening. “Or you can say goodbye to Claire. Either way, you’re coming. It’s your choice how!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming! Please! Don’t hurt her!” Sherry was fighting panic and losing. She took a few steps toward the exit to show her compliance. “You better take me to my mom.”

The man released Claire and stood, spreading his arms in mock agreement. “Absolutely. That’s why I’m here to begin with. To bring you back to her.”

Claire pushed herself up. “He’s full of shit! Ru—” Another blow to the face, a heavy slap this time, sent her back to the ground.

Sherry begged loudly for him to leave Claire alone. He seemed to relent, though his aggression remained. He seized Sherry’s arm and began dragging her outside. His grip was vicious. Sherry fought, shouting that he was hurting her, to let her go.

Claire rolled onto her back, drew her knees up, and worked her cuffed hands down past her hips and over her legs. Now with her hands in front, she scrambled up and sprinted toward the shutter. She arrived too late. It sealed shut just as she reached it.

“I’LL GET YOU! YOU FUCKER!”

But no matter how loudly she screamed, the man and Sherry were already out of sight and probably out of earshot. She kicked the shutter once in fury, then let her head rest against the cool metal. She needed to calm down, assess the situation, and plan.

All intention shattered when she heard a groan from the ground beside her.