Chapter Text
The sound of a baby crying is one that every father learns to fear, but this was far different than a late-night diaper change or feeding. Ethan Winters forced himself into a semi-sitting position, hunched over as his ribs throbbed. He looked frantically for the source of the crying - his daughter, his darling little girl, Rose. He ignored the biting wind that whistled through the gaping hole where a door once was as he crawled out of the overturned military truck.
He stumbled as he rose to his feet, hand clutching at the side of the truck in a desperate attempt to stabilize himself. Squinting his eyes to keep the snow out, he began to sift through the rubble. The bodies of the special agents that had been with them were strewn about, some completely whole and others in ripped-apart, bloody pieces. He desperately searched for the source of the wailing through the equally as loud wind.
He found her! His little Rose lay on her side, partially hidden by the body of an agent. He scooped her up gently, cradling her to his chest while he checked her for broken bones and deep cuts. His lucky little flower came out of the accident with only a small cut on her cheek. After his time in Louisiana, his morals had become, shall we say, a little skewed. There was no guilt as he dug through the soldier’s pockets, not like they would miss any of it.
There was another truck, though this one had been turned over and one paneled side ripped off completely. Ethan pressed Rose into his shoulder, not wanting her to see the carnage, even if she probably wouldn’t remember it. He could be called many things but a bad father wasn’t one of them. Whatever had been in that truck had clearly wanted out and had gotten it.
Nothing of worth was to be found in the truck itself, but around it was a different story entirely. He stole one of the winter jackets from a soldier, wrapping it tightly around himself and Rose. Next, he scooped up a handful of the papers scattered around, hoping to figure out what the fuck was going on. The report’s all seemed to say the same thing: target taken out, assets taken in. The normal cryptic bullshit that was common for the BSAA.
“Come on, Rosie. Let’s see if we can’t get you somewhere safe.”
He trudged forward, scouting out a sort-of path to follow down into the valley. Splitting his time between watching the ground to prevent any falls and keeping Rose happy was more difficult than he cared to admit. Still, he managed to find a dilapidated cabin sitting amid the leafless trees.
The cabin looked to be held together by hopes and prayers, though it was clearly abandoned if the missing door was any indication. He snuck into the cabin, hoping to find a little corner he could curl up in for the rest of the night. It would be too dangerous to keep moving since Rose was with him. So finding a bunk-down spot was for the best.
There was a spot, blocked by overturned furniture that was both dry and had what looked like some old curtains. He had to shimmy his way under a table that had been turned onto its side, crawl over an upturned chair, and squeeze his way through a busted wardrobe to reach their hiding place for the night. Making a little nest of sorts with most of the fabric going to keep his little girl warm. He curled around her, blocking her from view to keep her safe. He watched as she fell asleep to him humming Sweet Child Of Mine before he drifted off himself.
Ethan woke abruptly, the sound of shuffling feet wrenching him out of nightmare infested dreams. He froze up, one hand moving silently to Rose, while he held his breath. After a few minutes, the thing shuffled off, growling lowly as it went. Moving quickly, he gathered Rose up into his arms, snagged one of the smaller pieces of cloth to wrap around her, and maneuvered his way out of the corner and back out into the open.
Ducking his head, he moved out into the cold, winter air. Sunlight blinded him, reflecting off the snow to cover his vision in dancing spots before they finally adjusted. There was a narrow dirt path leading out of the cover of trees and into a too-quiet-to-be-inhabited village. Well, village wasn’t quite correct. It was so small it was closer to a hamlet. But he’s getting distracted.
There would be a few feet where he had no cover before he got to one of the crumbling buildings that made up the village. It was so quiet. Entirely too quiet. His skin was crawling. Memories of Louisiana were threatening to overwhelm him, he could almost feel the sharp sting of raindrops splattering against the skin of his face and hands. Inhaling sharply, Ethan forced himself into the present, going through some of the stupid breathing exercises his BSAA therapist had forced him to learn.
Hunching over his daughter, Ethan sprinted to the best of his ability to the nearest building. The door stuck slightly, making a grating noise that set his teeth on edge. He ducked into the one-room building, breathing heavily. No sound echoed through the room, causing him to relax, however minutely.
Scrounging around, he found a few cloth diapers that had clearly not been used in some time, a pocket knife, and an old baby bottle. After cleaning the cloth diapers to the best of his ability, he changed Rose. He hoped she would remain quiet for the time being, though he knew she would need to eat very soon. A cloth satchel-bag was snagged and quickly filled with what he could reasonably need.
The familiar weight of the pocket knife in his hand brought unwanted memories to the forefront of his mind. The death of a police officer, running out of ammo, video tapes left for him to find, and the hell games hidden in the side building. The color yellow still made him vaguely nauseous. Still, he would rather be armed and dealing with the memories of Louisiana than an unarmed sitting duck.
Loot and Rose in hand, Ethan made his way to the door before freezing up at the sound of static. A little radio sat on a boarded up window sill. It had been silent the whole time he had been looking around. Now it grated on his nerves, words cutting in and out.
“If there are any survivors, come to my-” the woman broke off with an unsteady breath,a wheezing noise emanating from the radio. “Come to Luiza’s house. The big one past the fields-”
The room had a small area curtained off, he had written it off as a make-shift bedroom. He quickly came to the realization that he should not have written it off. An older man, probably in his 60s or 70s, had a shotgun pointed at his chest after having yanked the curtain back. Instinctually, he turned slightly, blocking Rose. A rage he had learned to swallow down boiled in his chest while that violent little voice in the back of his head brayed for the man’s blood.
“You’re human? Do you have a gun? Do you?”
“Of fucking course I’m human! No, I don’t have a gun! I got kidnapped from my home yesterday after those assholes shot my wife!”
A loud howl echoed outside the house, startling both of them and causing Rose to whimper quietly. The older man shoves a handgun towards him, never looking away from the door.
“Here. Take it! That’s all I can spare.”
Ethan grabbed the gun, making sure there was ammo in it, and pulling the slide back. He snagged a long length of cloth lying on one of the counters and tying it into a sling for Rose. Making sure she was comfortable, he pressed his back against a wall and aimed the gun’s muzzle at the door.
The whole world was steeped in silence and tension. He could feel his adrenaline spiking, breath becoming heavy and his heart mimicking a texan jack rabbit. A creaking noise caught their attention, making them look up. Ethan spared a glance to the older man right as a clawed hand burst through the floorboards. The man was dragged under and silence returned. That is, until the floor underneath him collapsed, dragging him down into darkness.