Sublimity ? Leon Kennedy

L E O N

I move fast in the dark, my muscles still vibrating with tension and the recoil of my pistol, my shirt stained with blood that's not mine. I keep my gaze sharp, aiming at every inch of movement in my peripheral but finding nothing there. Yet.

It's a clusterfuck out there—the town streets teeming the snarls of the undead, the rain washing down the thick, clotted blood slick on the asphalt. I was attacked, overtaken by a horde of zombies with only one mag in my pistol, my legs swinging at them and my fingers hovering on the trigger before I could think. I just kept on shooting and shooting until there's nothing left in my gun, until there's no one left.

The streets are empty now—not even the scurry of living people in sight. I grip my gun tighter, my bare feet pattering against the wet concrete as I glide my way back to the motel.

I don't know how long I was gone for, an hour, maybe two, Illa's face before I left burning a hole in the cracks of my mind.

She better be fucking safe.

I don't even let myself imagine otherwise.

The motel parking lot is empty now, deserted of cars, fresh blood smeared on the drive way. My breath hitches from the sight, but I keep going, finding my way back to our room.

When I get there, I freeze.

The door is cracked open. Unlocked.

My jaw clenches.

I push it open slowly, the pitch black inside greeting me. I can't see. Not the bed, nor the faint glint of anything.

"Illa?" I call out, the silence bouncing into my skull.

I grab the flashlight on the nightstand and douse the room in light—the bed is untouched, clean, the floorboards just as normal as I left them. No blood, no anything.

She's gone.

I haste to the bathroom and swing it open. She's not there either, her absence hanging in the air like a suffocating smoke.

My mind begins to race.

Where could she fucking be?

A flicker of fear starts up inside me.

What if someone—something got in and attacked her? What if she was waiting for me to save her and fighting for her life? And I wasn't there to save her?

My chest tightens and I sink on the bed, my arms stained with the blood of the undead and dried up rain.

I shouldn't have left.

Why the fuck did I leave?

I should've just stayed here and watched over her. Maybe then I could've protected her from whatever it is that made her leave.

But I fucking told her to stay put.

I let out a breath, rubbing my face in frustration.

The glint of the flashlight catches something on the floor—her backpack. She left it. She wouldn't have left it if something didn't happen.

I have to get her back.

No matter the fucking cost.