Chapter 19: Containment Protocol Part 3
Rebecca smiled for the first time in hours. "I'm in," she whispered, eyes alight with relief. Richard didn't need to ask what she meant – she'd managed to overcome the lock on the heavy door leading further into the facility. With determination, Richard grabbed a syringe, snapped off a little alcohol ampoule, and poured it onto a bedsheet. He crumpled the sheet and tossed it into the far corner of the room, then ignited it with his emergency lamp lighter. The flame roared to life instantly, feeding on the alcohol.
An alarm blared in seconds. A recorded voice crackled urgently: "Fire detected in sector B1, medical observation room!"
"Now!" Richard shouted. He kicked the portable defibrillator off its mount and thrust its electrodes against the door's locking mechanism. Sparks flew as the panel melted. With a metal screech, the door began to swing open. Smoke poured into the hallway, thick and gray.
Rebecca and Richard slipped through the gap just as heat billowed behind them. The corridor filled with choking smoke and the wail of the fire alarm. Rebecca's lungs burned, but she led the way. "To the left," she gasped, guiding him toward the exit they'd memorized. "Emergency stairs just past radiology, I think."
They ran through deserted observation rooms and down a flight of metal stairs. A crimson sign above them blazed "Sub-Level 1", flickering in the smoky light. When they reached the next floor, a security guard stood at the hallway's corner. His uniform was dark and plain, not military issue, but he saw them and shouted: "Stop! You have no clearance here!"
Richard didn't hesitate. He charged the guard before the man could raise his walkie-talkie. With a thunderous shove, Richard slammed him against the wall. The guard crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Richard panted as he rifled the man's pockets. "It's okay, only a guy with a uniform, not a soldier," he muttered. He pulled out an access card, smooth and plastic, and jammed it into his pocket.
"Come on," Rebecca hissed, urging him forward. "If this is a front hospital, there shouldn't be more than a couple of guards. We need to move."
They hurried past silent operating theaters and storage rooms. The smell of disinfectant and dust hung heavy in the air, but they were alone – the building was empty, a ghost hospital. At last they arrived at an emergency exit door sealed by a card scanner. Richard slid the stolen card under the scanner's glass. A red light pulsed, then clicked green.
"Thanks for the card, pal," he said softly to the unconscious guard as the door swung open.
A blast of cool morning air hit them as they stepped outside. Dawn had barely broken, and in the quiet of the back lot, the world felt far away. An empty parking area stretched out, surrounded by an old chain-link fence and thick trees. The only sound was distant barking and the faint murmur of the waking city.
"What now?" Rebecca asked, breathing hard. She leaned against her rifle for support.
Richard scanned the perimeter. Beyond the trees he saw nothing but open ground. "We jump the fence," he answered. "Then… disappear."
They climbed over the low wire fence with difficulty. Each bruise and wound made it hurt to move, but adrenaline carried them over. On the other side, the dirt road they landed on disappeared into a morning fog.
Rebecca turned to him. "Any plan?" she asked quietly, voice shaking with exhaustion.
Richard looked at her, brows furrowed in thought. Beside him, she was wrapped in his thin hospital gown, shivering. The dawn's chill seeped into her bones.
"Get as far away as we can," he said at last. "And find someone we can trust."
She met his gaze. "Do you have someone in mind?"
He hesitated. "Not yet," he admitted. "But I know Umbrella is involved in this. They run deep. We can't just sit and wait for them to come back."
Rebecca nodded. "Then let's go."
They walked on in silence, following the overgrown service road. Tangle of weeds and vines clung to the cracked pavement. At one turn, a line of stray dogs barked into the mist. Somewhere in the distance, the city began to stir under the pale sky.
Richard pointed eastward, where the sky was lightening. "We head that way," he said. "Maybe if we're lucky, we'll reach the suburbs by midday."
Rebecca took a few steps and then abruptly stopped. She wrapped her arms around herself, teeth chattering. Her face was ashen.
"Richard…" she said softly.
He spun around. Fear knotted in his chest when he saw her trembling. Without a word, he went to her side and guided her to sit on an exposed tree root at the roadside.
"I… I can't go on," she panted. "I need… I need to rest for a moment."
He nodded, worry furrowing his brow. He pulled his own thin hospital coat off and settled it over her shoulders. It was hardly protective against the cold, but it was the best he could do.
Rebecca glanced up, perplexed. "You— You need it more," she whispered, eyes on the coat. Her lips wobbled as she noticed the blood staining his clothing again. Cuts on his arms and a smear on his side had begun to darken. "You're hurt. You're bleeding again…"
Richard tried to smile but the pain in his gaze gave him away. "I'm used to it," he said softly, trying to sound casual. "Seriously. I'm tougher than I look."
A tremor passed through her at his words. She lowered her eyes, her mind replaying the way he'd fought just moments ago. He was exhausted and wounded, yet he'd kept moving only for her.
They stayed like that for a few minutes. The sky cleared as the sun rose higher. Somewhere beyond the treeline, an engine started up. Rebecca leaned heavily against him, slowly regaining strength from the warmth of his body.
Finally, in the distance through a break in the trees, a silhouette took shape – a small farmhouse, battered and abandoned. Windows had been boarded shut with warped planks. One corner of the roof sagged ominously, but overall the house still stood solid against the dawn.
"There," Richard said, pointing. "That old farmhouse. We can try there."
Rebecca managed a small nod. Together they limped toward the house. Richard went around to the back, found a wooden panel loose by the kitchen door, and forced it open. The hinges protested with a groan, but the door yielded.
Inside was dusty and dim. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceiling. The air was dry, stale. At least it was empty. There were no signs of other intruders. They had a quiet, forgotten hideout.
Richard gestured. "Go on, rest," he told her gently.
She collapsed to the floor by the fireplace, arms wrapped around her knees. There was no fire in the hearth, but the low concrete floor felt a little less damp than outside.
Richard moved to a nearby dresser. He opened the drawers one by one. In the first were old rags. In the second, he found something useful: a faded travel blanket, a flashlight (missing batteries), and—miraculously—some discarded clothing: a pair of torn jeans and an old plaid shirt, crumpled and dusty, but wearable.
"Rebecca," he called softly from across the room.
She looked up, squinting. He held out the shirt and jeans. "I found you something. It's not fancy, but it's better than a hospital gown, right?"
Rebecca managed a weak smile and stood unsteadily. Taking the clothes, she said quietly, "What about you?"
Richard shook his head and turned. "I'll see if I can find something. Maybe in the pantry…" He slipped into another room briefly.
He returned a moment later carrying more clothes: an old heavy work jacket and a pair of worn canvas pants. They were dusty and smelled of mildew, but they'd have to do. Richard dressed quickly.
When they were both as presentable as possible – still far from comfortable or clean – they sat on the floor next to each other. Rebecca draped one arm of the blanket over both their shoulders; it covered their legs and allowed them to share its warmth. The dead fireplace stood before them, useless, but at least offering a sense of home.
Rebecca stared into the empty hearth and finally broke the silence. "I didn't think we were going to make it," she murmured. Her voice was almost lost in the hush of the cabin.
Richard exhaled. "Neither did I."
She turned to look at him, her eyes shining oddly in the dim light. "Thank you," she said softly. "For coming back for me."
Richard met her gaze. Despite the exhaustion shadowing his face, he smiled gently. "I would always come back for you, Rebecca."
Something fragile in her expression broke. She looked down, then suddenly rested her forehead against his shoulder. "And what if there really is no one else? What if we are alone in all this, against everything?"
Richard's arm slid around her tightly. He hugged her as though holding on would keep the chaos at bay. "Then we'll be alone," he whispered into her ear, "but at least together."
Rebecca raised her head and looked into his eyes. "Richard…" she breathed.
He said nothing; words were impossible then. Instead he simply tightened his arms around her. In that silence, she felt the steady beat of his heart. It was real, solid, their only anchor after the horrors of the night. He pressed his cheek against her hair and murmured, "Tomorrow we'll figure out how to move forward. Today… I just want you to be safe."
She felt a tear slide down her cheek, and Richard quickly brushed it away with his thumb. She closed her eyes and murmured back, "I am safe… because you're with me."
A profound silence wrapped them like an invisible cloak. In the distance, somewhere in the complex behind them, the flare they'd set earlier burned low and hissed behind glass.
Rebecca rested her head against Richard's chest. His steady breath rose and fell; her own inhalations were softer now. Each exhale, each fingertip brush, spoke more than any words could. In that quiet, they found a calm neither had felt in a long time.
Richard slid his free hand down her back, tracing the trembling line of her spine. He caressed her gently, as if each stroke could imprint her presence on his skin forever. Her shoulders relaxed under his touch. Her skin felt warm, almost glowy against the chill air. It struck him anew how delicate she was, yet how strong she had been to survive everything. In the pale light, she looked whole and beautiful – not a victim, but a survivor.
Rebecca raised her face to his. Her eyes caught the faint rays of dawn, shining with a mix of vulnerability and fierce warmth – a tenderness kindled by hope, a fire born in the abyss. Without hesitation, she lifted a trembling hand to his face. Her fingertips brushed along his jaw, then paused on an old scar etched into his cheek.
"You were hurt here," she whispered. "And you didn't say a thing."
Richard captured her hand in his. He gently turned her palm up to his lips and pressed a slow kiss to it. The gesture was reverent, as if sealing a pledge.
"Because seeing you alive… that's all that ever mattered," he murmured.
Rebecca closed her eyes at those words, as if she were trying to imprint them on her very soul. When she opened them again, she met his gaze and didn't hesitate this time. She leaned forward and kissed him.
The kiss was deep and slow, filled with everything neither had said out loud. It held the weight of their fears and relief, the urgency of reunited souls among ruins. It was gentle but desperate all at once, as if they might not get this moment again.
Their bodies pressed together naturally now, seeking the warmth and comfort they so desperately needed. The farmhouse was quiet around them; there was no heat in the room except the small blaze of desire between them. They didn't need a crackling fire in the hearth – the real fire was in the way their hands entwined, in the steady thump of hearts racing as if to outpace the night's terror.
He murmured her name against her lips, and she responded with a soft groan, melting against him. Every brush of skin and shared breath was an affirmation of life. The thin hospital gown on her body, a symbol of the nightmare they'd lived, was nothing now. It was barely a barrier between them. With trembling fingers, Richard slid the gown off her shoulder.
He moved carefully, methodical, as if fearful that any haste would break the spell. Soon, the flimsy hospital garment pooled on the floor beneath them.
They shared a wordless understanding as they shed the last traces of that lifeless place. It was not an act of conquest or reckless abandon. It was something solemn and true: an acknowledgment of life, of desire, of humanity.
In the silence that followed, nothing was said at all. They simply clung to each other, two souls breathing as one, finding warmth and hope in the wreckage of their world. Their hearts were defiant flames in the cold dawn, refusing to be extinguished.
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