A Sickly Sweet Reverie (Leon Kennedy X OC) [BOOK 3]

Chapter 23: Ground beef

"Are you okay?" I choked, dropping to a knee where Leon was slumped to the ground. His gaze went from the fire looming at my back to my eyes before he spoke.

"Yes." He grabbed at his shoulder as he slowly rose to his feet, looking around. "Where's Sherry?"

It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on me. Horror lanced through my heart as I spun around to face the wreckage I'd caused. The beast was nowhere to be found, likely pinned beneath the flaming mass, but I couldn't see Jake and Sherry. I lurched toward the flames, trying to look through the flaming barrier to the other half of the yard.

"Sherry?!" I boomed, my voice splitting through the murmur of fire and the occasional hiss of electricity. "SHERRY!" I scrambled further down the tower, trying to find some kind of gap where I could get a better view of the other side.

No. No, she has to be fine. I can't have done this. If I caused this, if I crushed her– The thought was enough to have me gasping for a breath of air.

"I'm here," Sherry's voice called from somewhere beyond the flames. Air rushed back down my throat, and I clutched at my chest.

Her voice picked up as she went on, "We're heading over to the Kwun Lung building in Koocheng. That's where I'm meeting Simmons."

Leon stepped forward, "Sherry, listen! Until we get there I need you to–" Leon was cut off by another explosion as the bus finally caught fire. The flames took over the mass quickly, devouring the metal body and all the scrap materials inside."Sherry?" We waited, but with the new roar of flames it was impossible to hear a response if one had come.

"Koocheng," I said, turning to Leon.

"Koocheng," He nodded, a killer gleam in his eye.

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We were silent as we passed through the narrow edges of the shipping yard slipping through the sprawling networks of alleys until a distant glow of light began to expand. We rounded a corner, the edges of the auxiliary buildings finally coming to an end and leaving us on a worn paved road with a street market on the other side. The mass of metal and fencing dripped with string lights and wares, creating an urban jungle.

We crossed the street, the smell of too-ripe produce and long hours of labor growing with every step. We stopped just short of the first stall, the walkway ahead splitting apart and forming diverging paths like streams spreading away from a river. The area was quiet. No sellers or buyers were in sight, leaving the stocked stalls to sit silently in the night air.

"Where is everyone?" Helena asked, peering behind a nearby counter, inspecting the cluttered dirt floor of the stall.

"BSAA must have evacuated the area," I answered, my voice the only sound in what must usually be a bustling square.

"We need to hurry," Leon said, stepping fully into the jumble of shelves, counters and tables. I followed behind, eyes sweeping over the abandoned area.

The string lights overhead did little to distract from the rusted and crumbling structures. All types of scrap materials were used to form the dividing walls of each unit. Large sheets of metal, yards of chicken wire, and thin panels of painted and decorated plywood.

Some baskets of produce were toppled over, leaving crushed tomatoes and split heads of cabbage scattered along the walkways. A sour smell prickled at my nose as I shuffled past a seafood stand. Where ice had once cocooned the meat to keep them fresh, now was only drippings of water that did nothing to conceal the smell of rotting fish. A stool was perched beside the display, the varnish completely wiped away from the worn wood, and perched along its leg was a backpack that had been equally as loved.