Resident Evil: Volume I

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟼: 𝙾𝚑 𝙶𝚘𝚍 "𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚃𝚘𝚘" 𝚂𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜

25th July 1998:

....ugh....

What happened? My head...it kills and...why is the ground so bumpy? I'm lying on my stomach across something and my head's hanging near to the floor. My eyelids flicker open weakly but it's all fuzzy, I can't see a damn thing.

Ouch.

My head throbs with so much pain that it makes me clench my teeth and hiss. It's just like last year when that grenade went off. Fuck, it hurts. Each throb pulsates throughout my entire skull, making me queasy. I clap a hand against my forehead with squinted eyes to try and ease the pain, not that it does much. Something flakes off from up near my hairline and I bring my hand back down in front of my eyes. Blood. Guess I was hit hard. It's mostly dry so I must've been unconscious for around an hour or two.

I prop myself up on one hand and look towards the ground. It's so damn uneven....

"Ugh..." Something below me rumbles, something warm.

I rub my eyes to clear away the blurriness before opening them again.

Blue orbs. Bright blue orbs.

"(y/n)?"

Chris. I breathe a sigh of relief. His voice is groggy and there's a dark, wet patch on the crown of his head where he must have been hit. His face is close to mine so I can see the fresh smudges of dirt and earth across his face. There's a light stubble along his jaw that I've never noticed before.

Guess I must've passed out on top of him. But...we were on the stairs, right? The audible crackling and orange glow tells me we're by the fire. So that means the monster must've moved us, either that or my head is more messed up than I think.

"Chris," I say a little louder than intended and I wince, lowering my voice to a whisper, "...are you okay?"

"Uhh," Chris blushes and I realise how close we are. I mean, I'm literally lying across him.

I apologise quietly and reposition myself so I'm sat opposite him. Chris mirrors me and gingerly touches his hair.

"Hey your—" Chris points towards my forehead but I wave a hand in dismissal.

"It's fine, I have herbs and yours looks way worse," I dig around my pockets and bring up two smushed green herbs.

Chris purses his lips at my injury and something tells me he's trying hard not to hold back. I look Chris in the eye and twist my lips into a small smile so he knows I'm okay. Yeah, maybe I'm not perfectly fine and maybe it does hurt, but it's not like I've been shot.

I lay both herbs on the floor and draw out my combat knife. It has a few bloodstains along the blade so I take it between the cloth of my shirt and wipe vigorously. The heat from the fire warms the patch of exposed skin just below my navel and the warmth travels up through my body. Chris raises his eyebrows but continues to watch as I manage to rub the final stains off.

I'm no medic but hopefully I can still fix something up. Pinching an end from each herb, I position my knife and cut along them in harsh, rapid motions until they become fine grains.

"You got anything to wash it down with?" I ask while scooping up a handful of grains and holding them out to Chris.

"Yeah," He taps the flask on his hip, "you?"

I lift up my flask and pour the crushed specks of green into Chris's hands. He studies them hesitantly before throwing them back into his mouth and unscrewing his flask. I copy him with my half of the herbs and tip some water into my mouth. The water mixes with the herbs and creates a gross, thick texture against my tongue. I swallow hard and grimace — tastes like old, minty seaweed. I trickle some more liquid into my hand and rub against my hairline in the hopes it'll clean the wound a bit.