I got really inspired by @polarspaz ‘s zombie Leon au. So here’s a kinda fic about the lead up to requiem. I really like the idea that zombie Leon can’t talk and no matter how much he works on ASL there’s just some people who he has to struggle with like when he did in Raccoon City. I have a post requiem in mind. Mainly because I want to write zombie Leon being understood by Sherry/the others through mostly body language cues and the little noises he makes when he’s not using ASL in front of Grace. Maybe they don’t cure him until he’s in a sterile environment because he probably needs a skin graft or something.
Leon could only cry in pain when the bullet pierced his right arm, luckily only skimming it. Maybe? He didn’t really have the brainpower to figure out if he could heal long term. All he knew is that it hurt.
“Claire no!” Sherry cried tugging at Claire’s arms which prevented her firing again. “He’s friendly.”
Once Claire had lowered her weapon Sherry ran in between the two adults. Leon tilted his head. How could he show he wasn’t a threat. He’d just saved the pair of them from Birkin.
“Sherry sweetie. Whoever was there before isn’t anymore.” Claire looked directly into Leon’s eyes as she said it.
Leon started to dig through his pockets. Come on a pen and paper. Anything.
His reporters notebook! That would do. “Stop!” He wrote in big letters. “Not hurty! Help me!”
Claire lowered her gun. The zombie wrote. He heard about them talking. Like death echoes. But writing. That was unusual.
“When did you get bitten?” Claire spoke dragging Sherry behind her.
Leon pulled a page out his notebook. ‘Yesterday!!!’ He wrote massive across the page. ‘I met Sherry today.’
Claire looked between the zombie and Sherry who was trying to push past her. He seemed cognitive enough. He knew he couldn’t talk.
“You did save us. Fine. But one wrong move and I shoot.”
The walk out of Raccoon City started with Leon walking a few paces ahead of the two girls. Sometimes the zombie would stumble over his feet and Claire reached for her gun. But when a passing truck came Leon reached for his gun. Almost as if the creature was trying to protect them. A few hours in Claire noticed Leon wincing at his arm. Guilt pierced her heart when they had stopped for a break. It needed bandaging.
“Here.” She walked over to the zombie with a bandage but Leon growled at her. “LEON.”
Fuck. He grabbed his notebook, the pages thinning out. “I bandage?” He tilted his head. “Blood might be a biohazard.”
Oh. Claire thought to herself. Leon looked like he surprised himself by growling.
The walk back to civilisation took them days. Raccoon city was so isolated that it was almost lucky for the world that the outbreak happened there. Unfortunately, it did mean that the group had to camp out. The first night, Sherry had fallen asleep in Leon’s arms. Claire had stared at the pair for hours before she couldn’t resist sleeping any longer. Leon was a lot noisier in his sleep than he was awake, growling, and grunting. It didn’t help that he’d gone notebook quiet too, being low on pages.
Claire did the talking when they reached a hotel. She needed to find Chris but couldn’t leave Leon or Sherry. When they got into the hotel room, 2 single beds and a sofa bed that Leon had insisted that he took. Claire threw a new notebook, and some decent shampoo onto Leon’s bed.
“Go shower. Please. You’ve got pretty hair don’t ruin it.”
Leon made a noise that sounded like a laugh.
Those 28 years felt like an eternity. Sherry thought to herself as she looked at the photos on her desk of her, Leon and Jake. Since Hunnigans’ retirement Sherry was in charge of Leon dispatch (plus she could kind of make sense of the zombie’s grunts and growls). Leon would be coming in soon, there were some interesting new developments in the Midwest.
As if on cue, Leon walked through the door to Sherry’s office. His translator following a few steps behind. They were all so scared of him. Nobody would dare touch him. Or smile at him. Or make eye contact. When Sherry had the chance she (like many of Leon’s friends) would give the 50 year old the attention nobody else would dare to go near him with.
“We won’t need translation.” Sherry spoke to the staff member.
“But I’ve been asked to provide it everywhere.”
“This is a classified conversation. Please give us time.”
The translator stepped out. And Leon made a grunting noise as he pulled up a chair.
“I can’t tell if that’s an old guy grunt or a zombie grunt.”
Leon let out a louder sigh then signed ‘can it be a hello?’
“It was an old guy grunt.” Sherry noticed Leon was struggling a little to pull up the chair properly. His face wincing behind his mask. “Are you okay. Your arm giving you trouble.”
‘Don’t feel bad about it, don’t tell Claire.’
Sherry stood to give Leon a hug. Same thing she did when she saw Leon for the first time in years and found out he was missing half of his mouth. Leon had decided instead to sit in his chair. Straight to business. He always was when it came to a cure for Sherry’s predicament.
“I need you to go to a hotel in the Midwest. There’s been an interesting predicament.”
“Bruises like you know what. On corpses Leon.”
“I need you to get there urgently, I don’t know how much time I have left.”
A zombie in a Porsche was a funny sight. But Leon was paid too much and he didn’t really have to pay to live at a DSO base. So an expensive car it was. Plus it was armoured. He pulled up his car outside the hotel.
Meeting new people was always difficult for the older zombie. Must’ve been something about his face. As he shot at the tall zombie, all he had was to hope and pray that the girl understood ASL. And could look at him long enough to listen. At least she had the sense to run back into the light. Leon pulled out his badge. He signed that he couldn’t speak.
Throughout panicked panting the girl introduced herself. “Grace Ashcroft, FBI.”
Leon signed. ‘Why are you here.’
“I was kidnapped. I think that’s what you’re saying.”
Leon stepped a bit further towards Grace. His dead eyes illuminated by the care centre lights.
“No.” Grace stumbled back. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Old fashioned way Leon mumbled to his self in his mind. It probably just came out as a low nonsensical mumble. He pulled out his notebook and slid a piece of paper to Grace.
“You’ve been like this nearly 30 years.”
He was about to walk towards the girl when the gate slammed shut. Shit. He pulled on the metal and motioned. Passing Grace his requiem pistol.
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